When The Heart Breaks
by CCNilesBabcock
Summary: It's 1950, and Niles Brightmore has left a war-torn Europe to start afresh in New York. Taking on a butler's role in the house of the wealthy Mr and Mrs Graves, he can't help feeling tension in the house, especially when he looks at Mrs C.C. Graves. Is he destined to bring warmth where there only seems to be cold, or will he find himself turned out? - Co-written W/ CrownedLioness
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter I**

Mr and Mrs Chandler Graves. Niles played the names over in his head, practicing them and making sure he had it as correct as the new address. The new address for postage, the new telephone for answering it, and the new cars so that he could tell when either of his employers was arriving home.

He'd have to know what he was doing – he was their new butler, after all. Hired by the housekeeper after their old one had left. Apparently there was no reason given – at least, none that the housekeeper wanted to talk about.

He hadn't heard of his new employers before now, so he couldn't tell if that was a good or bad thing; they seemed to keep much to themselves in society. Perhaps they preferred it that way? The hustle and bustle of New York couldn't always be for everybody.

He hadn't asked any of the servants (his new staff, he supposed – the butler was the ranking servant in a house) what they thought of the place, or of working there, yet, either – not much, at any rate. He wanted to get a feel for it himself, without being influenced by what anybody else thought.

Not that any of the other servants had had much to say when he'd arrived. And the longer he looked around and made himself familiar with the place, just before the bell rang that told him he had to take tea to the mistress of the house, he began to understand why.

The house was quiet, which he supposed wasn't out of the ordinary, considering his new master was apparently off on another (the cook's word) lengthy trip and wouldn't return for a while. But that wasn't the only thing about the place.

It felt... sad in there. The place was permeated with an atmosphere of nearly overwhelming gloom and quiet unfriendliness, and for the life of him, he couldn't put his finger on why.

Well, the unfriendliness could be coming from the people themselves, he supposed. Most of the servants kept themselves to themselves – busy – and he hadn't even yet been introduced to his new master or mistress.

Him bringing her tea would be the first meeting he'd had with either of them, which he found rather improper. Rude, even, especially coming from somebody who was supposed to be a woman of class. It was the duty of the lady of the house to hire all the servants, and yet she hadn't even made herself known to him once!

Did Mrs Graves have such little sense of propriety? He doubted that very much.

But it wasn't as though he could do anything about it. As a butler, it wasn't his place to question the motives of his employers.

No matter how impolite they were.

He quickly gathered the tray from the kitchen, not wanting to keep her waiting. If she was rude enough not to even come and tell him what his duties were to be, or to show him around the house, then she'd probably be rude enough to blame it on him if he was late by even the smallest fraction of time.

He didn't want that to happen. He didn't want to earn himself a reputation as a bad butler right from the start – he needed the work. When he'd first left Britain it had been for mainland Europe, with a rifle on his shoulder and an order to shoot any Nazi he saw between the eyes. But this latest time – the time he was currently occupying – he had come to try and escape the horrors the war had inflicted upon his own country. The economy was in tatters and trying to hold down a job...well, it hadn't been easy when nearly all the money the government could give was being put to rebuilding.

So, he'd gone to America, with what meagre savings he had, and made a few more meagre savings by doing odd jobs in hotels and restaurants, renting rooms in guest houses and from some of the worst landlords he'd ever seen. But, he had done it. And, all the while, he'd dreamt of having somewhere permanent to live and to work.

Now that he had that somewhere, three years after that time and now firmly in 1950, he wasn't intending to lose it.

No matter how much the house was already making him feel uncomfortable...

He moved as swiftly as he could, but he had to steel himself a little before he entered the parlour, carrying the tray in both hands and not saying a word beyond what he knew he had to.

"The tea you ordered, ma'am."

Mrs Graves looked up at him then from over the back of the sofa she was sat on, embroidering, and even from nearly across the room he could see the blue of her eyes set against her pale skin. It helped that her golden hair was swept up away from her face – it made it more open, and easier to see, along with her long nose and strong jawline.

She was completely beautiful, in a way that Niles hadn't been expecting. And she was young – far younger and more innocent to the ways of the world than he had expected her to be, or look. She was the kind of girl his squadron friends had all claimed to have waiting for them at home, while they were busy flirting and trying to dance or head off into the night with the French waitresses who kept bringing them wine at the bars they visited. But she was also a whole class above any of those girls – real or fantasy. She just seemed to breathe elegance and grace, along with a cool, quiet dignity.

It was more than a little surprising (circling the edge of flooring) for him, to be met by the sight of such a woman. Was her husband also that age? Older? He had imagined such a grand house to have had owners who'd lived there and run the place for years...

Well, if they were both young and inexperienced in the ways of running a house, maybe that would explain the rudeness, he thought.

It was hard not to just come out and say it, though. He was...rather outspoken sometimes, for a servant, even if he did say so himself. It made not turning and immediately blurting out that he was the new butler and had yet to be properly introduced or informed of what he was doing...difficult.

"Bring it here," Mrs Graves ordered, a quick and almost impatient tone to her words. "On the coffee table, in front of me."

Niles tried not to make his blink look judgemental, or accusatory. He hoped that it worked, even if he wasn't going to be sorry if it didn't.

No greeting, then. Not even so much as to ask if he was new. Did she know they had a new butler, or was she so used to never looking at servants that she didn't realise?

He didn't know. And as annoyed as it made him right then, he was going to force himself not to care. This was a job, not a place for making friends.

Especially not with pompous, snooty, _p-pregnant_...?!

He'd come almost to a halt as he was thinking, rounding the sofas to see Mrs Graves in her entirety. And, despite all his talk of politeness, he couldn't help but stare at the roundness of her middle – a definite pregnancy, that not one of the other servants had thought to mention!

How could they possibly have neglected to mention this?! It completely changed how he was supposed to look after the mistress of the house! Did the other servants never see her and not know? Did they not care?! Did they expect him to go in and just work it out for himself? Because at that moment, that was all he could think!

The place felt like a joke already, so he supposed it was darkly appropriate that his mind immediately raised an eyebrow and commented on it being no wonder she seemed snappy already.

That had to be partially true, really. With no butler in the house before now and her husband not around to help, she probably hadn't been as comfortable as she could've been...

That had changed now, though. Perhaps things might start to look up, once she realised that this was the new butler, ready and waiting to help, stood before her...?

"And the part where I mentioned the coffee table?"

His hopes were dashed in an instant, as her clear displeasure at...well, what appeared to be everything, came through and brought him back down to Earth with more than a substantial bump.

It was frustrating that he had no other choice but to obey. Politely, with no arguments or open insults.

Luckily, being in the Army has given him plenty of experience in doing that. Not every officer he came across had been good to him, or his friends. If he could put up with those arseholes while bullets were flying over his head, or there was a tank heading straight in their direction, he could more than put up with a slightly spoiled brat of a mistress in exchange for decent money and a roof over his head.

So, he nodded his head like a small bow.

"Of course, ma'am. My apologies."

He tried to see if she rolled her eyes to no one in particular at his behaviour, but when he leaned over to pour her a cup, the angle made it impossible. He just had to assume that it had happened. Why wouldn't it? He was probably looking much like a bumbling British fool in her eyes, making himself seen and heard too much already and he'd only been in the house five minutes.

If, again, she'd even noticed that he hadn't been there before.

When he finally looked up properly, she was certainly staring at him enough to make Niles think that something was, at last, amiss in her world.

Not that he was going to deter for a moment from his good-little-butler routine. Not until she did something to make it fall away, at any rate.

"You're the new butler," she commented, at long last saying the words that Niles found so prodigal, he'd slaughter a fatted calf upon honour of their being said.

Some recognition, at last! It was almost enough to make him jump up and yell in excitement (or at least gratitude that she hadn't stayed completely silent that whole time), if it hadn't been for the fact that he was more than sure he could be fired if he made the wrong move.

Besides, apart from answer what she'd said, what was there to talk about now? He'd moved his things in, he'd been shown around - what was left for her to do?

"I am indeed, ma'am," he replied, gesturing minutely to the bowl of sugar or the lemon slices he had brought up with the tray. "Will you be wanting milk and sugar or lemon in your tea, ma'am?"

"Milk and sugar should be fine," she said, leaning back in her seat and running a hand over her growing belly. "And then I want you to go back to the kitchen and bring me some eclairs – _pronto_."

Again, Niles had to remind himself not to snap at his new patron, lest he find himself back on the street and with no prospective job in sight. She was quite possibly one of the most unpleasant employers he'd had to serve – yes, he understood his place as a servant, but he expected some modicum of courtesy from employers.

Still, he had no other option but to grin and bear it. So, through gritted teeth, he forced himself to say a very polite "Of course ma'am."

He didn't know why he bothered, though. She quickly went back to the embroidery project she'd been working on without so much as glancing his way as he went about his business.

Very gently, he poured a splash of milk and a sugar cube into the cup, which he then handed over to his mistress' outstretched hand.

It was while doing this that he noticed a new detail about her that struck him as odd – her clothing. It was mid-June and she was wearing a long-sleeved dress, gloves and a neckerchief! He knew some people were sensitive to cold, but it made no sense for her to be bundled up like she was...

Not when the weather was pleasant enough.

Maybe it was the hormones?

Whatever it was, even as he got up, it still wasn't sitting right with him. Maybe he should've asked her if she was too cold, and offered to bring her something for it? A blanket, or maybe a maid to tend to the fire?

But that didn't feel like it would solve the problem, either.

And as he returned to his stood position, he couldn't help studying it all he could, from the tips of her gloves fingers to the sleeves, the skirt and the neckline of her dress...

That was when he spotted... _them_, just creeping out from beneath the collar of her dress and barely covered by the neckerchief that looked hastily and clumsily wrapped around her throat. Almost as though it had been done in a fit of painful tears, not carefully or with any thought as to what people would think by seeing such a thing...

The them in question, much to Niles' horror, were darker patches of skin that spattered against the rest of her a myriad of colours – from purple to blue to black. _Bruises_.

He felt his stomach drop. Actually, more like plunge, in a way that made him feel desperately ill. Ill to the point where he could physically feel the colour draining from his face.

Bruises – real, actual, deep bruises, all the way around her throat! Like...like there had been a hand around it, not too long ago...

He had to stop himself from letting the shock and the sudden, flash fit of anger get away with him. He might've tried to ask her all of the questions his mind was screaming, even as he started to gape a little bit at the sight.

Who could've done such a thing?! Had it been a threat, or an attempt on Mrs Graves' life?! Why would they do it?! Such an act made no sense whatsoever!

And to choke a _pregnant woman_ had to be one of the most abhorrent things Niles had ever heard of! What kind of an animal – no, a _monster_ – did such a thing?! Whomever had done it had no right to walk among decent, civilised society – not while still calling themselves a person, at any rate! They could take up a lesser position in society; they were already a lowlife, and as such could become a lower life form!

If, of course, the bastard who did it had been found. He couldn't imagine Mr Graves letting some brute attack his wife in such a manner!

He was, however, suddenly brought out of his reverie by his mistress rasping her throat. She was sticking him with an obviously annoyed look – a look of utter impatience and, in Niles' view, more than a little demining.

"What are you looking at, butler?!" she hissed dangerously, eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring.

She knew he'd seen.

And she wasn't happy about it.

"I… I…I was only–"

"I don't care what you were doing!" she barked, slamming her gloved fist against the arm of the sofa. "Go! Now! I don't want you here for a second longer!"

With more than a little fear growing in his heart, Niles did as she said. He dashed from the room as fast as he could without running, not realising until afterwards that he had forgotten to bow and give a polite "ma'am" before leaving.

Part of him didn't care. It didn't want to go back into that; not until it had to, at any rate. Not when his head was reeling from the shock of being shouted at, the horror at the bruising, the annoyance of barely being acknowledged...

The fear that he might have ruined it all, on his very first day, with his very first task...

He couldn't be sure, though. All he could do was resolve to avoid his mistress until it was absolutely necessary. Which, unfortunately, would be the next time she called for him. But after this, that probably wouldn't be for a while.

It might give him some proper time to think. About everything he had just seen, and the way she had reacted to it...

Maybe the other servants would know? He was owed more than a few answers, and as the ranking servant in the house, they had no choice but to tell him what he wanted to know...

He certainly needed answers.

Having seen the dregs of brutal abuse on a young mother was bad enough, but not knowing what had happened to her or why she felt so self-conscious about something that wasn't her fault was probably going to drive him insane.

He hadn't meant to upset her! His reaction had been born out of shock, not morbid curiosity. Still, he supposed he should have been professional about it. Not staring at one's employers was one of the basic lessons at butler academy, and he'd completely disregarded the instructions that had been drilled into his head!

Had his father been alive, Niles was certain he'd have called him a disgrace.

Niles couldn't help but pull a face as he scampered into the kitchens, a tangled mess of questions bouncing inside him and colliding into the many feelings of inadequacy that were sprouting in his mind. If he was to keep this job, he needed answers. He couldn't serve masters he didn't know, and if something awful had happened to the mistress of the house, he should be privy to it.

Who'd hurt her? And why? Was this person locked away? If not, he could only think it made sense for her to be so aloof – anyone would be, after having experienced trauma.

He knew the feeling well.

The war hadn't entirely left him unscarred, and for the longest time, he hadn't felt able to get close to anybody. He had seen too many people hurt, too many boys dying on the ground while they cried for their mothers, too many bodies leaving bombed out towns under sheets in the backs of military trucks...

He'd had to take part in too much of it. So, he'd shut himself off – it was the only way he'd been able to survive the sheer brutality and terror of it all. And he had more than a gut feeling that that was what Mrs Graves was doing as well, even if she didn't know or realise.

She was trying not to get more hurt than she already had been.

He was going to find out exactly why, too, he decided as he marched off towards the servants' dining-slash-communal area. Someone would probably be there, and would know what was going on – if something had happened to the mistress of the house, they'd have to.

They'd know who made their mistress that way, and Niles was determined to know as well. How else would he be able to help her, as best he could?

And he was more than sure that it would give him a better sense of peace about the place. He might relax a bit more, if he knew everything about it. Just like any good butler knew all the secrets of the house he served.

He was in luck – the housekeeper, Margaret, was having a quiet cup of tea to herself at the table when he got there. She'd know what was going on – she was only just below the butler in terms of her station.

She tried to get up the moment she noticed him, but he waved the unnecessary formality away. He might've been in charge of her, technically, but he didn't want to waste time with it. Also he didn't exactly feel like he was in charge of anybody, just yet.

If he ever would.

"Please, don't trouble yourself with that," he told her. "I've only been here a little while and I...well, it's not necessary."

Half way out of her seat, Margaret blinked at him.

"Last butler, Mr Johnson, always insisted," she replied, slightly shortly, her Southern drawl making it a little harder to understand at first.

Niles bit back a frown. This wasn't the way he had expected any of this to go. He had had in his mind this image of charging in and just straight out demanding the answer to all his questions. This didn't feel anything like that – it was far more...passive.

He had to force it to come. He had to know the answer; he wasn't sure he could live with the growing sense of worry.

"Well, I'm not Mr Johnson," he told her, trying not to shift uncomfortably on his feet. "I just have some questions that I want answered."

He saw Margaret raise an eyebrow, and took it as a cue that he should ask before she got talking about how Mr Johnson never asked any questions because he knew what he was doing.

Taking a deep breath, he started.

"What is...why does Mrs Graves act...the way she does?"

Niles wasn't expecting a panicked look to follow his words, but as soon as they were out of his mouth, the housekeeper looked like she'd seen the bloody Canterville Ghost! He also wasn't expecting her to run all the way back to the kitchen doors and lock them, almost as if she were afraid of somebody listening into their conversation.

"Madam," he said, running after the maid as she went around the kitchen, closing open windows and doors. "Please, what's wrong?!"

"You shouldn't be askin' those sorts'a questions," Margaret said, briefly stopping her frenzied run around the kitchen to glare at the new butler. "You could get her into trouble, y'know!"

"Trouble?" Niles repeated almost incredulously, not quite understanding what the maid meant. "How on Earth would I get her into trouble? And, by the way, who is her?"

"Mrs Graves, obviously!" snapped Margaret, "If Mr Graves hears you askin' about her, he…"

The housekeeper trailed off with a shudder.

"Just…don't ask questions, and do anythin' she asks – God knows that woman deserves some kindness in her life!"

What? Kindness? What on Earth was that supposed to mean?! Why was she making it sound like Mrs Graves would be in danger if he asked about...well, anything, or did things slightly his way instead of completely her way?

Why was that a kindness, and not an employer and employee each figuring out how the other worked...?

Did...did she even need kindness? She had everything else in life, so why wouldn't she be so lucky as to have basic human decency shown to her as well? Was the maid saying all this so that he would fall into line with the rest of the servants?

But part of that didn't make sense. Surely everybody would've been doing it by now, if that were the case...

She had to be telling the truth, but he was incredulous that someone in Mrs Graves' position was in need of something so basic. So fundamental to the human experience.

Was it an invisible something she was lacking, in a house that was filled to the brim with things? Something that made her feel empty inside, that possessions could not fill?

And the housekeeper had mentioned Mr Graves, too. Was he not the loving, caring and devoted husband that Niles had imagined? Was he...perhaps, cold and distant, never giving affection or warmth, and only buying his wife things to placate and distract her from what she really wanted? Really needed?

Niles could imagine it, if that were the case. Not that it was fully settling right with him as the full answer – something still seemed like it was missing. Like a jigsaw with a piece taken directly out of the centre.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "What do you mean, she needs kindness? Doesn't she get that already?"

But it didn't appear as though Margaret was willing to give him any answers beyond that. If anything, she looked panicked by his enquiries.

She made a noise in the back of her throat and shuffled a little on her feet, before she finally worked up the courage to say anything at all.

"You have a job here, let that be enough; you don't wanna spoil it with questions you don't need answered," she said, before turning to hurry away. "'Specially when that could get us all in trouble...!"

Before Niles could ask what she meant by that, she opened the door again and practically fled the room, leaving him by himself. Well, by himself but with all these unanswered questions...

He didn't know what to do with any of them, either. Could he take Margaret's apparent "advice" and just leave well enough alone? It didn't seem the right thing to do.

Not if Mrs Graves was hurting in some way that could be prevented, if someone spoke up.

But was that someone him? He was but a servant, after all. And she had dismissed him in anger already for getting too close...

Wandering over to where Margaret had been sat, he seated himself and slumped at the table. He had no more work for that day, as far as he was aware and no one had called him to do anything more. He wasn't sure what he would do, until the time came for him to eat with the others. Today had been difficult enough already, without all of the mysterious questions going around the house like ghosts only he could see.

Well, only he would acknowledge, anyway. That was the problem he wasn't sure if he could fix.

And, if his gut was telling him correctly, Mrs Graves needed it fixed before it was too late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter II**

Morning came far too soon. Niles could feel his every bone complaining and snapping into place as he slowly sat up in his bed, groaning and huffing. He peered around his new room through half-open eyes, spotting the last of his cases lying next to the en-suite bathroom, half-full.

He made a mental note of finishing unpacking that afternoon – maybe sooner, if he was done with his duties. He wasn't a messy person, and the sight of his undoubtedly cluttered suitcase was almost offending. He hadn't brought much from Europe: clothes, toiletries, some books, notebooks, a few family pictures…

That was about it.

It depressed him, having so little. Having been born from servants, he'd never really had aspirations of a comfortable life, but he wondered if perhaps he'd done too little in his life. Hell, his own mother had been married for twelve years at his same age! And yet here he was, alone in a new country, friendless and with no prospects of forming a family any time soon.

War had robbed him of many things, but he sometimes wondered if his current situation could have been helped, had he actively chased a happier life. It wasn't like he didn't have experience with the opposite sex – in his younger years he'd been a bit of a ladies man, but not one of them had interested him in the long run.

His mother would often despair over his choices and his father would give him a hard, disapproving look, but they'd never forced him to do anything he didn't want to. They had their quiet ways of trying to coax him to the light, but that was just about it.

Niles had briefly considered settling down with one of his birds shortly before the war had begun – his best friend Maxwell Sheffield, the only son of Mr and Mrs Sheffield who were Niles' own parents' employers, had married a young lass named Sarah and had suggested that Niles followed suit with his own girlfriend at the time. However, war had come, Sarah had died after a botched delivery (the child had luckily survived) and Niles had been sent to the front.

Hardly fairy-tale worthy stuff.

It had ended everything, certainly, but not happily. His girlfriend had written to him for a while, but it soon became obvious that her heart wasn't in it. The reason why only became clear when word eventually reached him that she had married a man who'd been sent home already.

He didn't know whether she'd been stringing him along for all that time because it was a laugh, but at the time he'd soon figured that he shouldn't care. He had more important things to worry about. Like staying alive, or watching as friends and acquaintances had bullets and shells rip them apart. He'd seen more than one boy, no older than eighteen and some who were even younger and had obviously lied about their age to join up, lying in someone's arms with a hole blown through their chest.

It was a waking nightmare, and he couldn't help but think about it every day, even to this day.

Perhaps it was inappropriate, but it made him wonder about Mrs Graves. He had gone through so much, lived through things that a lot of his comrades who'd lived would barely even speak about, and yet it was the socialite who hadn't been anywhere near a war that needed comfort and kindness. What had made her so cold and closed off, when there were people he knew back home who had done everything they could to return to the happy lives they'd once had, before the war had even begun?

What could possibly have happened to her that had been worse than a battlefield?

He'd be damned, but he was curious.

He was very much like his mother, personality-wise, and Marie Brightmore was the biggest gossip Niles knew. He, of course, followed close behind. Back in England, he'd known pretty much every secret in the Sheffield Mansion, and the situation had only repeated itself when he'd been deployed and in every job he'd held in America.

This new job would be no different – knowing the inner workings of everything in the house was practically his right as a butler, and he was determined to solve Mrs Graves' riddle.

Perhaps, if he knew what burdened her, he'd be able to lend a helping hand...

With renewed energy, Niles hopped out of bed and went through the morning motions. When he considered his appearance was satisfactory, he put on his coat and marched out of the room, towards the kitchens, where he knew Mrs Graves' breakfast tray would be waiting. It was usually the maid who'd bring it up, but that day it would be him, he'd decided. He wanted to start his explanation as soon as possible, and this was the perfect opportunity.

He interacted with no one on his way to the kitchen – the most he did was nod at those servants he came across with. The cooks were a little harder to ignore, clearly wanting to make small talk as they prepared her tea, but Niles was able to run away in just a few short minutes, tray safely held in his hands.

He practically took the stairs two at a time, already planning how to eavesdrop on Mrs Graves until he'd figured her out, but by the time he got to his room all his planning and all his scheming practically fled his mind and was replaced by abject horror.

Mrs Graves was asleep still, snoring softly in her bed and wearing a thin cotton nightdress that left her arms, chest and neck exposed.

Every inch of skin that he could see, was covered in bruises...

Even her face was bruised, which was something he hadn't noticed the day before due to the make-up she'd been wearing.

It took a split second remembrance of where he was and what would happen if he didn't focus all his willpower to not drop the tray. The devastation of what he was seeing felt too much, was taking over his body so much that he could feel a sickly heat coming over his entire body, his heart starting to pound in his ears.

If Mrs Graves hadn't wanted him seeing before, she certainly wasn't going to want him to see now!

_Bruises_. All over, everywhere he looked, and even if he closed his eyes they mottled and smudged the images in his mind, purple and painful and probably not even the worst that she'd suffered. Not a part of her was spared - not her arms, or collarbone, and not even around her eye, where yesterday there would've been makeup to mask the deep, crescent-shaped black shadows around her left eye socket, as delicate and soft as being slammed into a brick wall.

He couldn't help but wonder if that was what had happened.

But it was too much to behold all at once without breaking down in some fashion, and he ducked away as he placed the tray on the nearest side table.

It was either that, or he was going to vomit over her breakfast...

Who could've done such a thing?! What kind of monster attacked such a young, defenceless woman that way?! Was she attacked out on the street, by some potential mugger?!

Someone trying to do something worse...?!

Niles didn't even want to imagine it. He'd beaten bastards black and blue who'd taken women by force, back when he'd been fighting in France. They'd used the excuse that it was war so they could do what they liked, and that it was only a bit of fun.

It'd "only been a bit of fun" for Niles, too, when he and his friends had sent those animals to the medics, with broken bones and knocked out teeth from where they used to take turns with the squadron's only cricket bat.

If he'd had that thing with him now...well, he wasn't sure what he'd do! How could he know what to do, when he didn't get even know who had done this?!

Not for sure, anyway – Margaret...she had mentioned that Mr Graves wouldn't like it if anybody spoke about...about why his wife was so miserable all the time...

The bruises did look very fresh. As though they had only recently come to the surface and were not yet ready to show any signs of disappearing.

How long had Mr Graves been away on his trip? He didn't remember anybody mentioning...

The mere idea of it tripped some sort of switch in his brain, and he physically recoiled. No. No, what was he even _thinking_?! It couldn't be anything as horrible as that – his master was a wealthy and powerful gentleman; maybe not a lord or a noble, but that just wasn't the way things were done in America! Mr Graves wouldn't have done...there had to be another explanation!

There had to be something else, other than him having apparently willingly entered the house of a monster.

Either way, it was no wonder that Margaret had told him to be kind to their mistress. Once a person had been beaten apparently to within an inch of their life, it made tenderness afterwards all the more essential.

He had to leave. It was only the right thing to do – she'd be awake at any moment and seeing him...well, that really would be the last thing she wanted. She'd probably feel humiliated and hurt that he invaded her personal space (and even worse than the first time!).

And he'd already gotten in enough trouble over that. He didn't know how many more slip ups he could make, before she just decided she wanted him out of the house!

That settled it. He picked up the tray once more and crept over to Mrs Graves' bedside table, trying hard not to stare at her injuries or think about the horrors she had gone through to get them...

He could just leave her breakfast there. Yes, that was what he'd do. She never had to know it was him who served her that morning - it could've been the maid, like usual. The maid, who saw her sleeping and decided to just leave quietly, before she woke up.

It wasn't a stellar plan, but it could easily work.

He slipped the tray gently onto the table surface, pausing with baited breath every time it tapped against her glass of water, the table lamp, the book she had been reading...

But it made it, in one piece and without too much noise. He'd done it.

And all he had to do was turn around and leave just as silently as he had come over...

Which worked until he got just a few feet from the door.

It was too late to even reach out for the handle, when he heard the rustling of sheets, the creak of a mattress, and the sound of an intake of breath, as though someone had just woken up...

Woken up. Sat up. Probably already seen him through the blurred vision of the recently woken.

"Didn't you do enough snooping yesterday?" asked an already annoyed voice from somewhere just beyond his vision.

Oh, no_... definitely_ seen him.

What did he do now?! Well, he had no choice, did he? He had to explain himself - he could do it better than he did yesterday! He'd had more time to think, and wasn't in so much shock!

Perhaps she'd understand...? He hoped she might...

So, he turned on the spot, and tried to begin, only to immediately be cut off by his new mistress.

"You think you can just waltz in here, whenever you please, and don't think I'll mind?! Hm?!" she pointed at him with one warning finger. "I'm telling you now, you're... _oh_, _God_...!"

The last part wasn't directed at him. It was directed at the state of her own hand and arm, which she retracted after a split second of panicked staring.

And the terror and apparent shame only spread, the further she looked over her own body, her breathing becoming sharp little gasps of fear, realising every mark was uncovered, including her probably usually made up face...

Suddenly, she threw her covers over herself, turning away from him.

"Just get out!" she cried, pulling the covers right around her body. "A-and don't come back!"

Niles felt his stomach drop again, only it felt like it had a heavy weight attached to it this time. It was the sinking feeling that came with worry; he hadn't meant to find out any of this! He hadn't meant to make her upset, he'd only been trying to do his job! He'd been failing spectacularly at it so far. What kind of a butler couldn't look after the family he worked for?! She obviously needed his help, so he should be giving it! Whatever she needed, he had to be at her beck and call!

Margaret had been right - their mistress did need kindness. And he was going to be the one to give it. He'd make up for it all, and never speak of any of it again, unless she needed him to.

He tried coming back over, reaching out all the way.

"Ma'am, please – I am so very sorry; I-I did not mean to embarrass you," he said gently. "I was only trying to–"

"To what?!" she snapped viciously, turning around to glare at him. "Help?!"

Niles flinched, but chanced another step.

"Well, yes...I am only trying to do what I can to make you feel–"

"I _do not_ want your help! Now _do as I say and get out_!"

His words were drowned out by the screamed words that sent him reeling back, startled, terrified and scrambling for the door. He wasn't sure he had ever seen anybody so angry in his life, and he wasn't in any hurry to see it ever again!

Had he done it this time?! Was he in for it now?!

He didn't know, but he really could imagine some of the others coming to him later, his bags already packed for him and a cab he'd have to pay for himself on its way...

About the only thing he had done right in the entire two days that he'd worked there was grab that door handle and rush out, closing it behind him. It felt wrong to leave her alone in such a wretched state, but he wasn't about to push his luck any further. She'd clearly set a boundary and no amount of good intentions would ever be enough for him to be allowed to cross it.

Perhaps Margaret had been right – kindness was, perhaps, the only thing he could offer her.

He felt ashamed of himself; of his selfish desire to prove deeper and find out what dark secrets he could when it was obvious he had no right to do so. He was no one to her – a mere servant…

Why would she ever share her burdens with him?

Niles stopped his frenzied escape to the kitchen and slumped against the wall, releasing a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. He'd had some nerve when he'd attempted to spy on his own mistress! Even if the reason behind his actions had been genuine concern for Mrs Graves, he'd stepped over the line.

Well, not anymore.

If he was allowed to stay (he was well aware his future at the Graves' home was hanging by a thread), he would be at her beck and call, not once incurring in her wrath or overstepping boundaries. He'd be a dutiful servant and a kind–

_BAM_

The sound of the door slamming made him scramble to his feet. Who could that possibly be? He'd met near enough everybody, guests didn't let themselves in and there hadn't been any calls to let him know that Mr Graves was–

"I'm home!"

The loud declaration was enough to make Niles immediately straighten his suit. If he could keep on the good side of his master, he might just stand a chance.

Not that he'd hold out hope – he still couldn't be sure what was going on in that place, and it was setting him on edge...

But he had to go out and greet him. That was still a part of his job, and he couldn't get away from it. Trying to do anything else wouldn't exactly help his case, either. He'd just be set up as an even worse butler than he already was, at this stage...

Taking a steadying breath, he straightened up and fastened his tie properly again, before walking slowly and calmly out to see the man of the house.

The butler couldn't help faltering in his footsteps, or blinking in surprise at his new master.

He was...older than Niles had expected. At fifteen years older than his wife – if not more! He was the kind of age where other people would start to snicker at him for being out with such a young woman, and mutter about her for obviously taking advantage of a man's money.

Not that Niles had seen any evidence so far that that was what Mrs Graves intended...

But he had no time to stop and think about that, and it wasn't his place to make comments on what his employer looked like! If he was going to be dutiful, he couldn't just stop whenever it suited him!

He carried on walking, making sure he stayed straight-backed and with a warm but not overly familiar smile.

It was all halted though, when Mr Graves looked up, smiled, and addressed him first.

"Oh! You must be the new butler."

"Yes, sir," Niles replied, bowing to his new master, "I am Niles Brightmore."

Chandler stuck his hand out and gripped Niles' own in a handshake. Niles could barely hide his bemusement at Mr Graves' behaviour. Niles had never shaken an employer's hand before – at least not when he was supposed to be a lowly servant and not some family friend!

He supposed it was the American way…

He'd noticed the lot were more touchy-feely than himself or his fellow countrymen.

"Glad to have you here, Mr Brightmore – our last butler left us without warning a few weeks ago, leaving us in desperate need for another one," replied the businessman, flashing a charming, debonair smile. "Now, have you seen my wife?"

Niles gulped. Yes, he had seen his wife – not only that, he'd seen her and made her upset, something Niles wasn't certain Mr Graves would appreciate. He didn't look like the kind of man who would take kindly to anyone, let alone a servant, mistreating or hurting the woman he supposedly loved.

Niles felt incredibly stupid for even thinking that his master was to blame for the horror Mrs Graves had undergone. He didn't look like a monster and probably wasn't one – he probably was just a busy businessman who had to spend far too much time away from home due to work.

"Mrs Graves is upstairs, sir, in your room – I…I have just delivered her breakfast tray," explained the butler, gesturing over at the now closed bedroom door. "Shall I prepare one for yourself, too?"

Mr Graves got a look in his eye that Niles knew how to place immediately. It was unmistakable, especially when combined with the Cheshire Cat-like grin that was spreading itself across his face.

"Oh, I'm not hungry for _breakfast_, Brightmore," the businessman said, suddenly addressing him in a way that should've been more comfortable to a servant, but somehow wasn't to this one. "Just bring me a scotch – the best we have – in an hour. And a cigar. Don't disturb me before then, okay?"

Niles thought he could feel himself paling. The churning in his stomach was back, too, and he wondered if sheer willpower alone would be enough to stop it. He knew exactly what his master was getting at, but he didn't like the way he was saying it in the least.

Wasn't...wasn't he going to ask his wife if she...wanted...surely she'd want to greet him first! Talk about his trip, and the things he'd seen or spoken about to colleagues or other businessmen! He couldn't just go to her wanting it, demanding it and...and getting it, could he?!

He'd heard that a man could have his marital rights whenever he wanted, but surely most people were decent enough to let their partners have enough time to want it, too. Weren't they?

He'd hope so. Especially with Mrs Graves in such a..._delicate state_, as she was...

But maybe Mr Graves was just trying to be romantic? Sweep his wife off his feet by surprising her? It was a notion he'd gotten familiar with when the Army used to send them the cheap pulp fiction that occasionally passed for books. Despite the quality, they made certain moments between long stretches of abject terror not seem so bad; he used to like being able to pretend that he was the tall, handsome hero saving the day, beating the menacing villain, rescuing the beautiful girl just in time for them to declare their love...

Fat chance of that ever happening.

But he was overthinking everything, and Mr Graves most probably wouldn't wait much longer for an answer.

He gave another slight bow, trying not to double over where his stomach was still protesting that something wasn't right.

It had to be ignored, if he stood any chance of keeping what little he had together.

"As you wish, sir."

Clearly satisfied with the obedience of his new servant, Mr Graves gave a firm nod and confidently marched off in the direction of the master bedroom.

Trying but failing to relax over the fact that he was clearly off the hook for now, Niles turned and resumed a slower walk back to the kitchen. He had time before Mr Graves would be expecting his..._post-coital_ drink and cigar. He could probably use the time to do something. Perhaps take a small walk outside - nowhere far, just enough to take a good look around and re-gather the nerves he hoped weren't completely shot to pieces already.

Anywhere but in the house, so he didn't have to potentially hear-

"Oh, Brightmore!"

The butler froze, convinced his blood had followed suit.

That was his master's voice again. But it didn't sound nearly as warm or friendly as it had done just now. There was a fine steel edge underneath the call, and it felt like it could cut the air in two.

It felt like it could do the same to Niles just as easily, if it wanted.

He didn't want to go. There was an alarm going off in his head and it sounded exactly like an air raid siren; anybody with a lick of sense didn't wander in the direction of where there might be planes when that sounded.

No, they ducked for cover and waited for it to be over.

But again, it wasn't as though he had any choice in the matter. Dropping bombs or false alarm, he knew his place. He had to go, no matter the consequences.

No matter the danger.

So, taking in a deep breath that he held onto as though it would be his last, he went to answer Mr Graves' call.

He found the door open when he arrived. His master was leaning in the doorway, his back turned to Mrs Graves, who was now standing up and hovering in the back of the room. Niles couldn't help but notice that she looked anything but angry at this point - there was only fear on her battered features as she watched him approach.

Not that her husband saw.

"Ah, there you are," Mr Graves smiled as the butler approached. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "I have a question for you."

A...a question?

Niles felt instincts he'd developed as a soldier kicking in. Occasionally, things were too quiet. A road into the next town they were supposed to take back from the Germans felt too unguarded. No tanks, no barbed wire, not even a patrol. Those times were the worst times.

Such an instinct answered why something so simple could already sound like a trap.

"Sir?" he asked, keeping himself protected as much as he could by feigning calmness.

He didn't know what the question was yet. It could be about anything - even something as simple as what the cook planned on making for dinner that night...

Mr Graves' eyes scrutinised him deeply.

"You didn't happen to notice anything...unusual, about my wife, did you?"

If it hadn't been for his ability to hold his tongue, Niles might've given it all away by accidentally letting out a yelp, or some other noise. He could feel the panic welling up inside him, but he tried his best to disguise it as innocent confusion.

"Sir? I...I am not quite sure what you mean..."

Mr Graves' eyebrow crept upwards, "You don't? You did come into the room to serve her breakfast, didn't you? Did you not see her, when you did?"

It was then that Mrs Graves caught Niles' eye again, by nodding vigorously.

The next thoughts came like the last pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. She was nodding to him. She was giving him a signal – she needed his help to get through this exchange!

"Y-yes, sir!" he blurted out to his employer.

Mr Graves cocked his head to one side, no longer smiling and a new, cold look in his eyes, "And yet you didn't notice anything about her at all...?!"

Niles' eyes desperately pleaded beyond his master's shoulder at his mistress, and she swiftly turned to show him her back, pointing at it with her thumb...

To show that there were no visible bruises from that side...!

"Mrs Graves had her back turned to me, sir," he quickly '_explained'_. "I did not stay long enough for her to turn around..."

Mr Graves stared at him, eyes stony and unfeeling, even as his wife turned back without a word, as though she had never been miming answers for their butler to follow at all.

It seemed an age before the businessman finally gave a long, uncomfortably relaxed sigh and smiled again.

"Alright. Alright, good," he said, looking over his shoulder at Mrs Graves before turning back to Niles. "Because I don't know if anybody told you, but my wife had a, uh...a little _accident_..."

The way he said _accident_, and the way Mrs Graves flinched when he said it, sent a red flag up in Niles' head faster than a signalman hailing SOS from a ship.

"It's left her very embarrassed and ashamed. She doesn't like to talk about it."

Suddenly, Niles felt like he was starting to suffocate in red flags. Getting tangled up in them. He didn't know if he'd be able to untangle himself either, or if they'd bind his hands and his feet, tighter and tighter until they cut off his blood flow entirely.

This wasn't right. None of it was; it was becoming clearer and clearer to him that Mr Graves was not the man he pretended to be when surrounded by people, and the butler had no idea what to do about it.

What could he do about it? Who would believe a servant, over a rich, educated, "upstanding" member of society?

Still, he had to play the part if he was to help his mistress, whom he was starting to suspect didn't want to lie with her husband. He wished he could do more than just delay the inevitable, but what could someone like him do? He had no power over anything that happened in that house.

"A-accident, sir?" he choked out, letting only a little of the real concern he felt show.

"Yes, an accident," said the man, voice slimy and unpleasant. "But I trust she's covered the marks well, has she?"

Niles was starting to feel sick – how come this was the same man who'd so charmingly welcomed him into service only moments ago?! It was almost like the story of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde...

Still, he knew what was at stake and he was not going to disappoint. Margaret's words now made sense to him – this was exactly the kindness their mistress needed. She needed protecting, and even if they couldn't spare her from the worst, they could try and lessen the horror.

"I wasn't aware Mrs Graves was injured," Niles replied. "I haven't noticed any marks in all the time I've been here, sir."

Mr Graves almost looked surprised, in the kind of way that suggested he could turn it into anger and blow up at any moment but was choosing to hold it back.

Niles had seen that kind of behaviour before, and it had never ended well for someone. In those previous moments in time, he'd been glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of the rage.

But now...now, he'd give anything for the violence and the voice raised to screaming to be aimed at him. Anything for Mrs Graves to be able to get out of this unscathed...

But it wasn't going to happen, even if her husband did seem to take the lie as fact.

"Alright. Well, it's just so you know," he said, taking a step backwards into the bedroom and grabbing the door. "Don't forget my scotch and cigar. In an hour. If you hear movement as you come up, leave it outside."

He then closed the door in Niles' face before the butler could reply.

For a moment he stood there, incredulous and letting the fear wash over him – no, not wash. Washing was too pleasant. It was drowning. Being helplessly pulled under and he couldn't breathe, or fight against it, or even get to where he could call for help...

There was nothing he could do, even as he heard muffled voices start to speak up behind the wood of the door.

Did...did he dare listen? What if he heard something that he absolutely knew he didn't want to hear?

But what if he didn't, and he missed hearing something that could help him help Mrs Graves? Could he really live with himself if he just walked away when she'd said something vital and he hadn't heard?

So, despite his stomach pleading with him not to do it for his own mind's sake, he silently pressed his ear to the door.

Mrs Graves was speaking when he did.

"–and as you saw just now, I was careful for all that time. Just like I told you I would be!"

Before Niles could even think to question that statement, a sound like a sharp slap against a cheek reverberated through the room. It was followed immediately by a whimper – a whimper on the verge of tears.

Mrs Graves...that...that monster disguised as a man had actually _hit_ her!

"You got lucky," Mr Graves' voice spat harshly. "You got lucky, because that bitch of a housekeeper hired the only butler on the planet who is stupider than you."

Niles' jaw dropped. He didn't care so much about the insult directed at him – he'd heard plenty over the years – but to hear a man talk about his own wife like that?! Like she wasn't worth the mud the maids would scrape off his shoes?!

It was only about to get worse, and his horror mounted as Mr Graves continued.

"Now lie down and open up. I've got a week's worth of travelling to pump into you, and I'm not waiting a second longer."

Niles recoiled from the door just as Mr Graves ordered his wife to make a face like she was going to enjoy it, staggering away down the corridor towards the stairs.

He needed air. He couldn't breathe. It was all too much – knowing the truth and being helpless was too much!

How could anybody be letting such cruelty reign supreme in this house?! How could anybody go about their daily lives knowing that at any moment, Mrs Graves could be beaten black and blue, or left terrified, or even...held down and...

He felt himself retch, and stopped the thought. It was getting him nowhere, thinking everything over! Thinking everything over wasn't coming up with a plan to do something!

Mrs Graves needed help – he needed to help her! How, he didn't know; he supposed that bit he really would have to think about. But anything had to be better than the things he'd just seen!

The things he'd...he'd just heard...

Kindness, as Margaret said, was the obvious place to start. But he needed something more than that. Something that showed Mrs Graves that she wasn't going to be alone.

He was the new family butler. It was his duty to look after her, no matter what. And that included in situations like this, even if it could become dangerous for Mr Graves to find out...

The risk was worth it, to let someone know they were being heard.

He had at least an hour to come up with a further plan of action before the monster in the other room wanted his disgusting "after treats", at any rate. It gave him some time.

It was time he was going to need, if he was going to be of any help at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter III**

She often curled over on her side after he was done. When he was having his bad days, he'd never once hold her, or ask her if she'd liked it, or if she wanted to do it again.

That last one was always up to him, if she was honest, no matter what mood he was in. But this time, he was finished; he was redoing his fly just out of her range of vision. She felt too unwell now to sit up and look, though – her pregnancy often made her feel nauseous, but this time it was magnified into tidal waves. She knew she'd throw up, if she sat up. And throwing up in their bedroom – or anywhere else, for that matter – would make Chandler mad. So it was best that she stayed where she was. It would allow her more time to get over the pain, too. Her bruises throbbed practically all over her body, making her want to flinch every time she so much as shifted to try and get comfortable on the bed.

She tried not to do that. Chandler might think she was commenting on his performance, and that would make him angry too. And he'd already declared the moment she'd opened up for him that he was going to give her a few new bruises...down there.

She couldn't even reach past her belly, or look up to try and see. She could feel the soreness she usually felt after he'd finished and had been rough with her. Their first time – their wedding night – hadn't been like that at all. It'd almost been like a dream, he'd been so soft and gentle...

Sometimes he did get like that. Kind, caring. Other times, well...he frightened her. Especially when he demanded it while he was mad.

The first time that had happened and she'd told him it hurt, he'd snapped that it was normal. All wives put up with it for their husbands. She should stop bothering him with things her mother had neglected to tell her, back when she'd started to develop.

Hearing that it was normal and that all women went through this, every once in a while with their husbands, made her be quiet. What else could she do? If that was just how things were, it was how things were. She couldn't change them any more than she could change the colour of the sky.

A knock on the door was the next thing that registered her mind, and part of her wanted to turn to see who it was, but the other forced it back. If Chandler sent them away, she didn't want him having any reason to talk to her.

It was more bearable when he didn't.

She heard him nearly stomping across the room to answer it. He sounded satisfied when he did.

"Ah, Brightmore."

C.C. felt her body stiffen even more. The new butler.

He'd helped her earlier, even after she'd been so rude to him...she didn't understand why. He had no reason to be loyal – he'd been with them a day! And yet, he'd lied for her. Because she'd asked. She'd told Chandler that her back was turned to him when he'd come in, and he'd helped her alibi.

He deserved thanking, when she felt as though she could speak.

"Your scotch and cigar, sir," came the formal reply.

He was clearly trying his hardest to be good at what he did. That became obvious, when his voice next addressed her.

"Is there anything I can get for you, ma'am, while I am here?"

She hoped that speaking wouldn't make her husband annoyed. She curled herself over as much as she could, just in case.

"No, thank you...I...I am not feeling well."

"Excuse me?"

C.C. shrunk in her curled up position. She should've known that would've set her husband off. The immediate sharp tone, underneath a calm voice and a turn of his head that she didn't have to see to know had happened, told her that he felt slighted.

Did he think she was criticising his performance? She already knew that she wasn't really supposed to enjoy it as much as him, or for as long – Chandler had already told her that. So what was there to criticise?

But she couldn't argue back, even if she knew she was right. She'd gotten her first black eye the first time she'd done that.

So, she meekly mumbled back, "My...I feel nauseous. It must be the pregnancy..."

Silence. Silence for far too long.

She then heard Chandler picking up his glass of scotch from the tray the butler had brought. It was all part of his routine, after he'd had his fun.

But he hummed thoughtfully as he did it this time – her explanation might've been enough. If he was convinced enough that she was feeling sick, and that it wasn't...what he'd done that made her unwell, he'd leave it be. Leave her alone, to rest and recover until the next time.

She was carrying his baby, after all. And nothing was more important to him than having an heir to carry on his name. Not even the wife who would give birth to the next generation of Graves children.

It sounded like a long, bleak future when she thought of it like that.

"I'll take these down in my study," he said eventually, clearly to the butler and not to her. "You stay here, with Mrs Graves. Give her what she wants, whatever that is."

She then heard his heavy footsteps walking away, out of the room, to head downstairs.

It really was a light blessing that he had done as she'd hoped and left it alone, after it could've gone so badly wrong. Left her with the one man who had helped her since she'd gotten here. It sometimes was hard to believe just how different things were between her and Chandler from before they'd gotten married. When he'd courted her he'd been the most romantic, kind-hearted and loving man she'd ever seen – he still was, sometimes, when he was in his good days.

He'd charmed her, back then; convinced her that he would worship the ground she walked on from there on to eternity…

And yet here she was, eight months down the line and more bruised than she'd ever been before. C.C. could feel her stomach churning uncomfortably – she shouldn't be thinking about her husband like this. He loved her, didn't he? He'd always say so, when he wasn't mad at her. It was just her getting him on his nerves – it was her being hormonal and oversensitive due to her pregnancy.

He was just stressed. Maybe it was work and his long business trips. She didn't know…

Regardless, no good wife should doubt or think ill of her husband. Not when he always apologised, after hurting her! Besides, she was sure things would get a lot better, when their baby was born. It wouldn't be long now, either – a month or two more, at the most. He'd been wonderful, back when they were dating, and she was certain he'd go back to being that way…

At some point…

Yes. This was just a phase. It _had_ to be. The other option was simply too bleak for her to even consider it.

She heard the butler discreetly close the door behind him as he stepped a little bit further into the room. Good – the last thing she needed was for anybody else in that house to see her in her current condition! She might've earned it, but that didn't mean just anybody who wandered past got to gawk and peer whenever they wanted.

"Is there anything that I can get for you, ma'am?" he asked quietly.

Niles felt his stomach clenching and unclenching itself, even as he spoke the words. He wanted to add _"packed ice, maybe?"_ onto the end of that sentence, or ask her if she wanted a bath drawn to help soothe her bruises.

Maybe he could pack her suitcases for her...

He refrained from saying any of those things, though. He didn't know if she wanted his help anymore – the other time could simply have been a one-off, designed to save her from a worse fate than the one she had already received.

It certainly hadn't saved her from anything. Maybe she wouldn't want his help for that reason? He hadn't exactly been useful in that situation, beyond the alibi.

But he did so want to be useful, and to show her at least a little of the kindness she deserved. It would be a little more that would have to add up, in this house...

Maybe if he was going to get anywhere in this situation, he'd have to defer back to her alibis and excuses. He was almost certain that her current condition had more to do with the man who'd just left than she let on, but he wasn't going to talk about anything that she might not want him to.

"Some tea, perhaps?" he asked instead. "To settle your stomach?"

"Thank you," she replied in a stilted voice, almost as if she were trying to rein in her emotions. "For covering up for me."

Niles could feel his heart breaking for his poor mistress all over again. No person should live under duress – not like she was! And certainly his actions didn't warrant any thank you's when anyone who had a heart would have done the same thing for her. Couldn't she see she wasn't at fault here? Couldn't she see she was a victim of her husband's sadistic nature?

"You needn't thank me, Ma'am," he said softly. "It's the least I can do…"

It really was, Niles thought – if it were up to him, her husband would already be on his way to the hospital.

"It really isn't, but I appreciate your being humble, Mr Brightmore. Now, if you would be so kind as to fluff my pillows and help me lie down, I'd greatly appreciate it. I'll also be needing my make-up bag. You'll find it on top of my vanity, which is in our en-suite bathroom. My husband would prefer it if I…covered up. "

He sprung to obey her order right away. If that was what she wanted from him right at that moment, then that was what he would provide – nothing less than the service she needed to help get through the things she was facing. Especially if she was being forced to cover them for everyone else.

He'd do more, if she asked or truly needed it, but never less. It was sickening to think what she was being forced to go through, and then forced to hide simply so...that man could get away with it. Niles hated the very thought, and it made him want to offer every good service he could provide to Mrs Graves.

She deserved to have someone on her side for a change.

So, his first port of call was the en-suite, just as she had asked of him. The vanity wasn't hard to spot when he walked in through the door; the finely carved mahogany and his own upper reflection in the large mirror greeted him almost as soon as he did. Only one bag rested on top of it, so he had to assume that was the one she had meant. It was certainly large enough to hold near enough all a lady's makeup, and it rattled like cases and brushes clicking together when he picked it up.

He brought it back out and calmly and quietly approached her bedside, presenting Mrs Graves with the bag before taking the first of her pillows and gently pounding it into a softer, more comfortable surface.

It was while he was doing this that she began to speak again.

"I...I have to apologise," she sounded like she was confessing something that she had never dreamed of speaking about before, all the while staring at the contents of the now-open bag. "For my husband."

Niles' eyes couldn't have snapped to her any faster, but he tried hard not to start beating the pillows any harder. He didn't want to scare her with the presence of yet another angry male, but just the mentions of the word "apologise" and "husband" in the same sentence like that set him on edge.

Unless she was going to say _"he is a sorry excuse for a husband"_, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear.

But he knew that wasn't what was coming.

"He...I make him mad, a lot of the time," she continued, seemingly shrinking in place as she did. "He gets very stressed at work, and some of the things I say...I just don't help! He just needs to come home to a peaceful, quiet place."

More like a tense place, Niles thought angrily. Was his mistress really suggesting that if her husband came home to a perfect house every day, that none of this would ever happen?! That wasn't how it worked – the man would find something to argue about or criticise and she'd be no better off than...

Than how she was now. Justifying her own abuse, as though it weren't a personal horror story that she didn't even seem to realise she was in. She was too young to know. And she was too inexperienced with men to understand that this kind of behaviour just wasn't normal, or acceptable!

But how could he make her see it? He was merely a servant, doing his job and obeying her orders...

It made his insides deflate like a balloon to think that maybe he couldn't. It wasn't his place to interfere with the lives of his employers – he lived under their roof, ate their food and was paid from their pockets (well, perhaps Mr Graves' pocket). He should be grateful for that, and not overstep boundaries that weren't his to even think of going near.

That was what he had been taught, during his training.

Besides, even without the fact that he should be showing gratitude by not snooping where he didn't belong, he was a nobody. A man with barely a small room full of objects to his name, compared to the power and influence of Chandler Graves, rich American businessman.

Even if he did try to help, what could he possibly do by himself? Especially when Mrs Graves' loyalty to her husband – however misplaced and upsetting – would probably influence a lot of what came next? If Mr Graves either frightened or charmed her into saying what he wanted, no one on the outside was going to believe what some little nobody butler had said.

And if she had devoted herself to the point where she'd apologise for her own abuse, then it was obvious which of the two men she'd choose to side with, when the time came to let everything out.

This was why the others had simply told him to be nice to her. They already knew that they could never get the word out – Mrs Graves' own love for her husband was blinding her too much.

Maybe...but maybe that was it? Maybe he could show her such kindness, that she would break through the feeling – at least a little – and see that there were people out there who weren't trying to beat her into submission, or force her into doing things she didn't want to, or to tell her it was her fault that either of those had happened in the first place?

Perhaps. He didn't know if it would work – he still had an image of her turning away from him, towards her husband, just at the moment when they could've let everyone know what was happening.

But it was worth a try, wasn't it? Even if only so that she got at least some of the care that she deserved.

He finished plumping her pillows and settled them back against her headboard.

"I am sure you provide a wonderful home already, madam," he replied, tone gentle but also keeping within the tactful boundaries he had to set. He was her servant, not her friend. He hadn't earned that right, if he ever would. "If I may say so, of course. Your pillows are ready, if you would care for me to assist you in moving to them?"

His mistress' only answer was extending her tired arms so that Niles could manoeuvre her on the bed and place her comfortably against the newly-fluffed pillows.

"You are too kind, Mr Brightmore," she said once he'd settled her and proceeded to start tucking her in. "But you can't deny I still need practice to become a worthy housewife."

Again, her words made Niles stop in his tracks, fingers still curled around the edge of Mrs Graves' sheets. The woman really had no idea, did she? She was completely unaware that she wasn't in the wrong – her husband was.

That bastard had brainwashed her to the point where she'd allotted his misgivings as faults of her own! It was making his heart break for her, and had it not been something completely improper and that would most likely cost him his job, Niles would have hugged her. God knows the woman needed to feel appreciated by someone!

"Pardon my nerve, ma'am, but I also believe you are a worthy housewife. You have committed no fault."

He spoke frankly and made it a point to look at her in the eye. The intensity of his stare was actually making her uncomfortable – why was he so intent on defending her from her own self? Was he intending to please? Was this how British butlers were supposed to act around their maters? Praising them and disregarding their faults?

She dismissed the notion of disregarding her faults. He was probably just being polite and not mentioning them right to her face. The British were practically famous for their manners, and she doubted that he wanted to rock the boat so early on by siding with Chandler right away.

Though why he didn't just go ahead and do it, she didn't know! There were plenty of reasons for him to do it; even she knew that.

She could think of so many off the top of her head, they easily became a list as he finished up smoothing out her bedsheets.

"You haven't been here long enough yet," she muttered. "I'm not all peaches and cream, you know; I argue back when I have no right to, which only shows up how rude I am to other people. I don't know how to run a house, which is my fault for never paying attention to what my mother taught me, and my fault again for not learning and doing better when I got a home of my own, which just proves I'm lazy..."

She had to pause and sigh before she finished. She'd just thought of another one that she could add to her list. If it hadn't been for the nature of what it involved, she might've even considered telling Chandler about it, to prove that she was willing to learn and change. To do better, for him, and for the home they'd make together.

"I use other people. I made you lie for me, earlier to today..."

She felt the butler's hands slip on the bedsheet. It felt like he hadn't done it on purpose – more like the action equivalent of a vinyl record scratching to a halt on the player.

And she looked up to see what was wrong just as he turned to her.

She was more unnerved by him staring now than she had been before. It was almost like the air was...thick. But not like there was smoke – not as disgusting as one of Chandler's cigars. More like...she didn't know. But the air felt as though it could be cut, and that it would take an effort to even try and walk through.

His eyes...they were bright, beautiful...apparently earnest, at that time.

"Madam, I would lie a hundred times over, if it meant that you were kept safe from harm."

If it hadn't been for her own belly, C.C. would've shot bolt upright at his...his what? Confession? No, confessing something implied guilt or regret – he didn't look like he felt guilty or remorseful about what he'd said!

That really wasn't something that butlers did, was it?! She didn't remember her parents' own being anything other than quiet and reserved! Was it that different in Britain? Did other servants across the pond just say whatever they wanted to their employers, just like this?!

Maybe...maybe they had to. For whatever reason, she didn't know – she couldn't think of one. She had to dismiss the thought entirely. He couldn't be saying it as...well, as a person! It had to come with his job, not because he would do it simply for her!

Who'd turn around and do something like that, just for her? She wasn't special enough for that. Chandler had told her so – about how lucky she was that he found her special, even if nobody else did.

Her family had been the first people to desert her, once she'd gotten married. She'd gotten no answers to the numerous letters her husband had posted to them. Not from her father, not from her mother, not from her sister and brother…

None of them had ever replied to the countless letters she'd sent.

Chandler, however, had been there to support her and soothe the ache. He'd told her that he'd always be there for her, even if her family didn't want her anymore. He'd been so helpful! Chandler had been the one who'd kindly offered to post each and every letter she'd ever sent – he'd been gentle enough to spend his precious free time on doing her a favour, instead of relaxing or maybe going for a drink, like most other men did. And she was certain he'd mailed her letters; why would he lie to her? He loved her, didn't he?

He wanted to protect her – he'd said so himself. That's why she wasn't allowed into town on her own. Who knows what could happen to her if she walked the streets without a man to protect he? She had to think of their child, as it was! Chandler would always say she was better off at home, where she had anything and everything she needed. He'd also advised her against seeing her old friends anymore – they weren't good company. They'd never liked Chandler…

She knew her husband could be… _choleric_, from time to time, but he did everything in her best interest! He wanted her to be happy and safe, and the right thing was to try and help him protect their family. She still had a lot to learn, but she was determined to be the best wife she could be.

Chandler loved her and she loved Chandler. Period. She had to be a loyal wife to the one man who had thought her worthy, in spite of her many flaws, which he was kind enough to remind her of – all in hopes that she'd better herself, C.C. was sure.

So why would Mr Brightmore say she was unsafe, she didn't know. Chandler's beatings were…well…accidents. He didn't mean to hurt her – he always said so, after he'd calmed down! She just got him on his nerves, sometimes…

"I assure you, Mr Brightmore, I am as safe as a woman can be," she replied, frowning. "My husband takes good care of me."

Niles had to physically restrain his own jaw from dropping. He simply couldn't believe what he was hearing, and part of him wondered how she could believe it herself!

_Did_ she believe it herself? Or was her own mind telling her a lie to protect her from the awful truth?

He couldn't be sure. The only thing he knew right then was that it was obvious he was doing the right thing. This woman needed as much support and kindness as could possibly be given. Someone to help protect and defend her, wherever and whenever possible, and someone she could speak her mind to. He hadn't seen her leave the house at all, or have friends over to visit, so it fell completely on him until he saw another human being from outside the house appear.

She needed an ally, and she'd just found herself one without even realising, or asking for it.

But that was something he'd keep under wraps, until he needed to tell her. For now, he'd simply be the kindly but professional butler she deserved, as well as believed him to be.

"I am sure Mr Graves provides a very secure home," he said with a nod, straightening up. "Is there anything else that I can get for you, ma'am?"

C.C. shook her head.

"It's fine, Mr Brightmore, you can retire."

Niles replied with a low bow and left the room. If he'd been able, he would've locked the door behind him to prevent that monster from going back in whenever he pleased. But, frustratingly, there was no key for that and he was certain that he'd get in trouble if he tried.

He was going to try and avoid trouble where he could – for her sakes, as well as his own.

So, as he went back down to the kitchen to see about the rest of his tasks for the day, he knew he'd be keeping his ears open for anything Mrs Graves needed. From the smallest thing, such as a glass of water, to the largest, like packing her bags and getting her the hell out of there, he'd be waiting for whatever she wanted him to do.

He'd show her kindness each time he did, and hopefully show up her husband's cruelty in the same breath.

He'd help her see the light, and perhaps he'd even be able to help her get out of there when she did.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter IV**

The knocking was what brought Chandler out of the rather enthralling novel he'd been reading. That, and his wife's unmistakeable voice coming from behind his study's door, asking for permission to enter. She was up and about, by the look of things, and had come to pester him.

Sighing (actually, it was more like groaning), Chandler slammed the book shut, tossed it on his desk and uttered a clearly annoyed "come in!". He didn't know what she wanted, but after what she'd done, it'd better be worth his time. She'd completely disregarded his orders about her bruises and, when he'd demanded his marital rights, he might as well have been a fucking dead fish, rather than a drop dead gorgeous woman! He didn't understand how she could be so stupid sometimes, but for better or for worse she was the bitch he'd married, and for that he had to sometimes bite the proverbial bullet and actually listen to her…

…for a few seconds.

"What do you want?" he asked as she waddled in, her large eight-month old belly hindering her every movement. He didn't think she'd ever been less graceful than she currently was!

"Nothing," she replied meekly, coming to stand at his side. "May I sit?"

He knew what that meant – she wanted to _cuddle_. He honestly didn't know why she had to be so needy and touchy-feely with him! She wasn't a five year old child, for the love of God! Still, he begrudgingly humoured her. He always did. In the long run it was better for him – the las thing he needed was for her to be moping around the house, moaning about feeling alone.

Once he'd pushed back his chair, she readily (and excitedly, almost like a dog) settled herself on his lap, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and lay her head in the crook of his neck. He had to shake off the desire to push her off him.

"I'm sorry," she eventually said, "I know I've made you mad."

Yeah, no kidding she'd made him mad! He could've been enjoying his novel, cigar and scotch upstairs after several satiating rounds inside her, but she'd decided to go ahead and spoil their fun in bed and to nearly let herself get caught by the butler.

Not that he could do anything about it, but Chandler had a reputation to uphold! And if word got out that he had to correct his disobedient wife so often...well, it didn't necessarily mean that people would feel sorry for him.

None of those lesser beings would know what had really been going on! They'd be getting the side of the story from someone who simply didn't have any place in telling. It wasn't as though C.C. could leave the house to do it.

That made him feel slightly more secure, and in feeling more secure, he decided to throw her a bone. Just a small one – he didn't want her thinking that she could just come crawling to him whenever she wanted affection, or for him to forgive her!

"Hm," he huffed. Her bodyweight was uncomfortable on him – if she hadn't been carrying his heir, he would've told her then, too. "And I suppose you intend to do something about it?"

C.C. scraped through her mind for the right answer to this. She knew she had to do something, but it needed to be the right thing, or else Chandler would be in a mood for the rest of the day! Days, maybe.

Those were the worst times – feeling like she'd been abandoned in her own home, by her own husband...

"I'm going to try harder, to be a better wife for you," she eventually told him. "You give me a warm, safe home, and it's only fair and right that I do my best to be worthy of it. And I will try my hardest to give you the...loving...you deserve; again, it's only fair that a man gets what he needs from his wife."

'_Well, now we're talking!'_ Chandler thought to himself, fighting to keep a satisfied smirk from spreading across his face. He didn't want her thinking she was off the hook already, even if she was heading the right way. He _did_ want a few more rounds with her – he'd wanted them from the beginning, but her shitty attitude and lack of interest had put him off before.

He fully intended to have her make up for that later, but it was good to know she was actually going to try this time.

"Is that all?" he asked coldly, relishing in the disappointment so clearly visible in her eyes – he loved to keep her on tenterhooks. He'd accept her apology eventually, but he wanted to milk her guilt for all it was worth.

"I…well…yes– I mean… no!"

Chandler really had to make an effort not to laugh – it was so pathetic! She was stumbling over her words and sounding like a complete retard! It was the height of humiliation, which was exactly what she deserved for being a poor excuse for a wife.

"Well, what is it? I don't have all day long, you know?" he said.

"I…I know, and I'm sorry," his wife mumbled, lowering her head like a good bitch, "I just wanted to say that I love you, and I hope you can forgive me, because I've missed you and I…I don't want things to be off between us."

He wanted to say that she should've thought about that before she'd gone off and almost gotten herself caught by the first person who'd walked through the door. But he didn't. Not this time – he'd save it for the next time he was mad.

It never hurt to have a few bullets already loaded in the barrel. It saved time, when he needed to win a fight quickly. Not that he ever lost – some victories just took longer than others.

It was sweet to be able to walk into work, listen to the other men talk about how they'd had to make some shit up to their wives, somehow, and then turn around and tell them that he never apologised to C.C.. He simply didn't have to, because he always made sure that she knew she was wrong, in the end.

And she was firmly in her place enough to never get mad at him, unlike other wives who didn't know where they belonged, which helped

He was worshipped at work for this very reason. The others didn't know how he'd managed it, not that he'd told them. He often said that was simply between a man and his wife, and had basked in their praise, admiration and clamouring for marital advice.

He hadn't helped them so far, but maybe he would – once he had things straightened out perfectly at home. It was good that, in a lot of ways, C.C. was taking herself there.

It meant less work for him to do, in the long run!

But he still had to coax her a little more – feed her the odd tidbit of affection, or give her some calmer words that filled her with hope. She'd learned to be desperate any time that happened, and would most often end up saying whatever he wanted.

He truly was the king in his castle, and he'd make sure she knew it.

"I see," he said, leaving the pause long enough to make her anxious. "Well...I'm glad you've realised your mistake."

"I have – I promise!" C.C. said, nodding vigorously and clutching at his shirt. "I've learnt my lesson. So, please, am I forgiven?"

_He had her right where he wanted. _

Chandler didn't reply immediately. Instead, he put on a thoughtful face and stared her down, almost as if he were weighing whether or not to forgive her. He'd already accepted her apology – how could he not, when she was practically begging him to? – but he wasn't willing to give up the game so quickly. She was going to want for it. He'd make her want for it, until he felt she'd paid her dues.

Actually, that brought a little idea-slash-impromptu-test to his mind…

He wanted to see his little show horse dance…!

Not to mention teach her not to be so fucking insistent -if he wanted to forgive her, he'd tell her so. He didn't need (and wouldn't tolerate) her pestering him about it.

"Leave," he barked at her, his expression becoming thunderous – had she not been pregnant, he would have pushed her off his lap and onto the ground! "I don't want to see your ugly face for one more second! Who do you think you are, demanding things from me?!"

"No!" she cried out, tears beginning to form in the corner of her eyes. "Please, Chandler, forgive me! I–"

"I said leave!" he bellowed at her, all the while trying very hard not to guffaw at her despair. If she passed this test, he would reward her. Still, she needed to learn, and this was him putting his foot down to nip insubordination in the bud.

Shaking and having been rendered speechless by her husband's actions, C.C. had to force herself to move from his lap. She'd thought her apology would be good enough from him, but she'd clearly been mistaken. She'd fucked up all over again, and ruined both her and her husband's days! But he was right – she was no one. She was nothing. She had no right to ask for his forgiveness when it was clear she was a complete and utter failure. Chandler was spot on when he'd said she was a horrible mess of a person – she'd failed the one man who loved her, and as much as it made her feel like she was being split in half, she had to accept defeat and wait until he'd deemed her worthy of him again.

She didn't know when that would be, but she'd try with all her might.

"I understand," she said, voice cracking and tears falling. "I…I'll be upstairs, if you need me."

Just as she turned towards the door and begun her waddle back to their room, she suddenly felt a pair of arms wrapping around her waist. She was subsequently spun around and, before she had time to react, a kiss was being pressed to her lips.

A warm, loving kiss. Just like he gave when he was in a good mood.

Had...had he forgiven her after all? He'd been so angry just now, she couldn't imagine him turning around and just accepting that she was sorry, even though she was! It was so hard to tell, but she knew she had to learn the signs; both if she wanted to make sure she never made him mad and so that she knew how to help stop him being mad when he got that way!

She just hadn't learned everything that would do that yet. But she was starting to get the idea – all she had to do was make sure she did as he said, at all times. That kept him happy, most of the time. And when it didn't, she would work out what had happened in that case that had made him upset.

And then she'd never do it again, or speak about it, or commit the action that had caused him to get so upset. Never. Whatever it was, it would simply leave her routine, no matter what it was!

So, today, not getting up and leaving when he told her, and asking too much for forgiveness, would both leave the list of things she allowed herself to do.

She resolved that in her mind, as he ended the kiss but kept her in his arms.

He smiled at her warmly. It was as though the last few minutes had never even happened. Maybe they hadn't happened? At least, not in the way that she'd imagined they had – it probably wasn't as bad as her mind had conjured up.

It never was as bad as it first seemed. He loved her – he always forgave her in the end, no matter how mad she'd made him. No matter how much she didn't deserve it. No matter how much he could do better...

He always came back to her.

"I always need you," he said, confirming her thoughts. It was as though he could read her mind, that was how close they were. "Just try not to overdo it next time."

C.C. nodded, blinking away her tears. She could do that – she could do better this time, and this time she'd try extra hard to make sure she didn't fuck up again! He'd given her another chance and she didn't want to waste it.

She'd never meant to waste any of the others, but she'd been the stupid bitch that she was and had done it anyway. It was only out of the goodness of her husband's heart that she'd still been allowed into his affections, and eventual forgiveness.

He was better than she deserved. She should tell him that more often. There were a lot of things she could tell him more often, and apologise for, and say that she had done for him, to make him feel better.

She only wanted him to be happy. She wasn't enough for that, but she was going to learn to be. It was her fault she wasn't learning fast enough, but she would – in time, everything would be perfect. She'd never trip up or make him mad by accident, and they'd always be happy. Just like he'd promised, when they'd first gotten married and she'd left her family home to live with him.

"Now," he said with a charming smile, hands beginning to slowly dip downwards until they were cupping her ass. "What do you say if you and I…have a little bit of fun? We started off with the left foot, but now I'll make it worth your while, hon."

C.C. forced herself to smile. She wasn't really in the mood – she was still sore, more than a little nauseous, she was swollen and achy due to the baby…

But she didn't want to ruin things again! And she _had_ promised him they'd make love more often. He was giving her a second chance – she couldn't and wouldn't waste it. He was in a good mood again, by the look of things, and when that happened he usually made it good for her, which was always an advantage. It was so nice when they got to make love properly, and she wasn't going to waste her opportunity just because she was feeling a little unwell. She'd just ask him to take it easy, something he didn't really mind doing, given that he understood just how uncomfortable she was, given the size of her belly.

She'd promised to make it up to him and she would deliver.

"Gladly, dearest," she replied with her best seductive smirk – she knew he loved it. He'd always say so, in the throes of passion. "But could we take it easy? Your child has been making me nauseous and kicking my ribs all day!"

Chandler felt his smile drop, just enough for her to notice and let her own smirk fade some. He had been hoping that she might concede to let him just do what he wanted (within reason – she was still pregnant), to whichever part of her body he wanted, considering this had all been her fault in the first place.

But, he knew she had a point, really. She wasn't currently the gorgeously figured goddess he'd gotten pregnant – she was almost completely round; practically a Goodyear blimp! She wasn't going to be able to do half the stuff he wanted to do, half as well as he expected.

Taking it easy might be less fun, but at least it was more fun than having to stop. Besides, perhaps it was better if he didn't take it too rough when his bouncing baby boy was still in there – who knew what could happen, if he went too far?

It wouldn't kill him to humour his wife, just this once. As soon as she'd given birth to his son, they could go back to having it how he wanted it.

"Well..." he slipped a playfully thoughtful look onto his face, so she'd stop that worrying look she had plastered all over her face. "I suppose one time can't hurt, can it? Especially if our little boy has been having his football practice in there..."

He bent over to start to stroke her belly, chatting to it and cupping it with both hands. He still couldn't believe his boy – his first boy, who'd carry his name and help to build their family – was in there. Strong and robust, just like his father.

"You give your mother some peace, young man," he jokingly ordered, stroking her stomach again and looking at it as though it held the answers to everything in the universe. "You've been practicing all day – you'll be Bobby Layne by the time you're ready to come out!"

That made his wife let out a giggle, and he grinned up at her. The worried look was definitely gone now, which pleased him. It meant things were probably going to stay fun, for once.

He lifted himself back up and took her hand, muttering.

"If only we could give him five dollars and send him to the movies..."

C.C. chuckled, "One day. Just not yet."

She was relieved, in truth. Chandler's anger with her seemed to have passed for the time being, and she wasn't planning on doing anything stupid, so she had to be alright for now, didn't she? If her husband was happy, she was happy, and everything was alright.

They were going to be fine. More than fine. They were going to be just wonderful.

That was why she was more than happy for Chandler to pull her along by the hand, taking her upstairs to get what she knew every husband needed from their wives.

* * *

When Chandler was in a good mood, the afterglow was always so much better.

She didn't have to lie alone afterwards, for one thing. He would lie with her, just as he was right at that moment, holding her against him with his arms around her (well, around her belly right now, but that was more comfortable so she didn't mind). It felt...better. Like a relief or a weight off her whole body after having held it for so long.

It made her happy. _He_ made her happy. It was her own fault when things got spoiled – they both knew that, and yet he still did everything he could, including holding her after lovemaking, to see that she was comfortable and content.

How could she not be right then, when she was being held by exactly the right person for the first time in...admittedly a very long time?

Well, she was mostly content and comfortable. The baby inside her was making it kind of difficult to be completely happy...and...not feel a little sick...

Well, that was just great. She'd just had a wonderful time with her loving, caring husband and now it was on the verge of being ruined by a need to throw up that she couldn't shake with a few deep breaths!

No matter how calming she tried to make them – no matter how deep or slow she took in air, the feeling just wasn't going!

But she wasn't about to spoil the atmosphere by saying anything, not even to say she wanted a glass of water. Chandler wouldn't like it. He'd get irritated because he'd made all that effort, and had agreed to take it all slow, only for her to end up feeling like that anyway.

She didn't want him to get mad over it, when she didn't mean to end up feeling like that...

She had to learn to control it, and there was no time to start learning like the present.

But, despite her best efforts, Chandler could still hear the breathing. He knew what she was doing – he'd heard it plenty of times. She was trying hard to sound like she wasn't nauseous.

He appreciated her effort. She knew how much the sound annoyed him and just made him want to correct her, even though there was nothing they could do about the nausea coming back (and he'd tried everything – he'd even spoken to doctors who'd told him something was being worked on, but it wasn't going to be on the market for nearly a decade).

But today, he was feeling particularly generous. The rounds had been good, if not exactly as he'd have liked them, and she'd served him well through the whole thing. It was enough to make up for the noise, and it was only fair that she got another little favour in return.

"Are you feeling sick?" he asked, quite plainly.

C.C. stiffened against him, "No, no...just...savouring the moment..."

Chandler held back from rolling his eyes, and actually let a smile start to play about his face.

"You _are_ feeling sick. And I bet you're sore, too."

C.C. didn't want to admit to that, either, even if he was right. He might've been in a good mood, but what if he took the aching as an affront, insisting that she was saying he had done something wrong during their...

She didn't want to think of it! She was sorry already - she hadn't meant to imply he'd been bad! She didn't want him to think that! She didn't want him to–

She felt a hand on her.

But not in the way that she'd been expecting. Instead of a painful slap or punch, Chandler's...his palm...was starting to _rub at her belly_...

It...it was nice...soothing..._unexpected_...

Was he not mad at her...? Had she not done anything wrong that time?

"Why don't I get one of the maids to draw you a bath, hm?" he asked smoothly. "I can give my precious wife a massage while she waits..."

The offer was...more than tempting. Besides, if she had been able to resist, she wasn't going to ignore what was essentially a home gift from her husband! He didn't do that very often, and...

And again, she would've spoiled the atmosphere. Like she nearly always did.

Not this time. She agreed to the bath, and Chandler pulled the covers up and over her before throwing on a robe and going to fetch the nearest maid.

It wasn't long before they could hear the sound of the water flowing into the bath, a hint of steam coming from the en-suite. And C.C. was in the middle of the nicest massage she thought she had ever had.

Chandler could only grin down at her from where he was. He really did have his young goddess of a wife eating out of the palm of his hand! And it was all because he'd done what any man should do, and put her in her place.

He really ought to take her somewhere he could show her off. Out in public, so that anybody and everybody could see just what a success Chandler Graves had made of marriage.

Somewhere like...well, he knew a few classy restaurants. He could pick any of them and he'd be bound to get a table.

"You know something?" he asked aloud, making sure C.C. opened her eyes to look at him while she listened. "I should take you to dinner. Somewhere really nice, for a romantic evening you deserve..."

Chandler nearly laughed at the look of utter shock that crossed his wife's face – that was exactly how a good wife should react. Grateful for any unexpected gift given to her! Wives weren't entitled to pampering, they had to earn the privilege, and although she slipped up many times before, his C.C. had won her golden star…

For now, at least.

Women were like dogs – loyal, pretty to look at and meant to be fucked on all fours. Treats and a walkie were needed from time to time in order to keep their fickle minds occupied, and of course they needed to be kept on a tight leash. Otherwise, how would they know who and where they belonged to?

"Really?" C.C. said, beginning to smile. "We're going out?"

"Indeed, Honey, we are. So you better get better real soon or we'll miss out!"

C.C. nodded vigorously – she wouldn't even dream of missing out, even if she was feeling unwell still! It had been so long since she'd last left her home! Probably two to three months, if her memory didn't fail her. She loved being out and about, but Chandler preferred it when she stayed home, lest something happened to her and the baby while she was out. She was going to be on her best behaviour and make her husband proud!

"I'll be alright, I promise," she told him, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Thank you very much – I really appreciate it."

"Don't mention it," he said before kissing her palm. "Nothing but the very best for you. Now, you feel like trying to waddle to the bathroom?"

C.C. craned her neck over towards the open door of the en-suite, blinking and feeling the smile on her face drop a little as she realised there was still one tiny detail about that...

The maid was still in the bathroom. She wasn't finished adding soaps and oils to the water, or laying out the towels for her afterwards! And C.C.'s robe was hanging on the back of the door – it had been there for hours!

She knew already that Chandler wouldn't allow her to get it. If she even veered off in that direction, she'd look like she was deliberately disobeying him and he'd get mad again. It would, obviously, be her fault for not being a grownup and taking charge of her house by letting herself not care what the maid thought.

She had to do that. If she was the mistress of the house, it shouldn't matter. Should it? Her own mother had never done it – not once!

But the longer she remained uncertain, the longer Chandler had a reason to be mad at her. He couldn't stand her indecisiveness, and C.C. had to agree, it was one of her worst features. She had to make a choice.

And she chose to preserve the peace, by nodding.

"I can give it a try..."

Chandler grinned. Excellent – the dog was well-trained already. Not Kennel Club level yet, but definitely a future contender. If she was willing to be naked in front of other people for him, he'd probably be able make her do anything he wanted, by the end.

He flashed his same toothy smile at the maid while he helped C.C. to her feet. He was going to show her just how a woman should look, all over. It was too late for her to grow breasts (curves of any kind, truly), she couldn't physically make her hair more golden than the sunlight hitting dull shades of brown and it would take a miracle doctor with plenty of work to give her a different, less-plain face.

But still, he felt that she should see what she should've been aiming for, as C.C. made her rather chilly way across the bedroom floor.

If the little slip of a bitch girl had actually made an effort to look like a woman, she might have a husband instead of the title of "maid". Not that he cared what she did or didn't do in her pathetic, personal life. He already had a young filly to look after – and a prize winning one, at that. So, after dismissing the maid, he helped his wife into the bathtub (lest she fell and damaged their growing son!), undressed, and slipped in himself.

He settled comfortably between his wife and the back of the tub. This wasn't the first time they bathed together, and he usually liked to have C.C. lie on his chest so he could wrap his arms around her middle – he always hoped to catch his son kicking or moving inside her.

So, when they eventually assumed that position and he felt the baby kick, Chandler was certain life couldn't get any better than this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter V**

He checked his watch. Six thirty. Good, they were still in plenty of time. And that was the only time Chandler was planning on checking his watch that night – he'd usually do it until he'd just decided he'd had enough and marched upstairs to drag his wife down, whether she was ready or not.

But that wasn't going to happen tonight. He'd decided to give her more time to get ready for dinner, for once. With the baby so close to being born and everything, it might've been taking a little longer.

But their reservation would still be there. There wasn't a restaurant in the city that would dare give away Chandler Graves' table, as he could guess from the way the place he'd ended up calling had scrambled to set up his booking so quickly.

He let his chest puff out a bit as he said that. It wasn't any less than he deserved, and he knew that every eye would be on him as he walked in, his gorgeous, pregnant wife on his arm.

She was the perfect woman for a man like him – the body of a goddess, the manners that spoke of fine breeding, and quieter than a church mouse, now she was a broken-in housewife.

He loved it. He loved her, exactly the way she was right now. She was the number one mare for a stallion like him.

If any of the guys from lower down the office rankings at work were there, they could envy his luck up close. How many of them could say that they'd have a supple, eager-to-please twenty-three year old wife at the age of forty two?

Of course, she wasn't the only mare he had, either. There were plenty of them scattered all over the place, just waiting for him to call and say he was coming back around so they'd better get as ready as his (impressive) manhood already was.

What kind of a stallion didn't keep a harem, after all? He needed the release and it wasn't like anybody could stop him. He just had to make sure he was careful and only let C.C. get pregnant. A man needed heirs and those heirs had to come from their wives.

Besides, spreading his seed like that all over the place could become...complicated. What if one of them tracked him down in the future? He didn't want to have problems with his wife or have to give them money, either because they'd demanded it or to make them get the hell out of his life...

He'd rather spend it on his harem. And tonight that, just as he'd decided, meant his number one mare.

The new fur wrap, diamond necklace and earrings had been something of an impulse buy earlier that day, but he knew they'd look stunning on his wife.

And he'd get the chance to prove himself correct, too, as she appeared at the top of the stairs, having come from their bedroom.

The white dress (a purchase of hers that he'd approved of) accentuated all her curves in just the right ways, and paired with her heels that were making her legs look even more shapely than they already were, he felt like he could skip dinner entirely and take her back upstairs to get on with dessert.

But he wasn't going to waste a perfectly good meal. He'd just enjoy the feel of her thighs and her breasts beneath his palms later. And probably be thinking about them all the way through dinner...

He was the luckiest man in the world, and as she descended the steps and came towards him, he felt a sense of pride at having bagged the best of the bunch.

And the new trinkets that marked her as his were waiting on the side table, next to the telephone.

"Stunning," he greeted her as she got within reach of his hands. He pulled her towards him, but not so much that she could fall, like he might've done if he'd been mad and she hadn't been pregnant. "Simply stunning."

C.C. smiled meekly, not wanting to potentially turn Chandler's mood by brushing it off. He'd been good to her above and beyond what she deserved, especially with this whole restaurant-and-romantic-dinner business, and she didn't want anything to spoil it. As such, she was going to do everything he said that night and agree to it all.

She'd even agreed not to get her usual fur, or wear her favourite necklace or earrings. He'd said they weren't special enough, so she'd reluctantly put them all back in her wardrobe or her jewellery box.

As long as it kept him happy, she supposed she didn't mind too much.

"Thank you...I'm glad you like it..."

Chandler grinned in return, "I do like it, very much..."

He paused a moment, before continuing.

"Although, there are a few things that appear to be missing..."

He turned, reaching out to take the boxes one by one, and presenting her with the necklace, the earrings, and the fur. He felt rather proud of himself for carrying that off – he hadn't done that in a while; he never presented tokens or things like that to his mistresses with any amount of grandeur or ceremony.

C.C. gasped softly, staring in a small amount of wonder at the gifts.

The first was a sparkling diamond necklace, gold-chained to match her hair between the gems, which were probably the envy of any number of diamond mines across the world. The earrings had obviously come paired with the necklace, because they were the same, and they glittered prettily in the light, letting rainbows bounce off them as she moved.

And the fur was soft, white mink – as warm and as soft as a summer afternoon in a garden, surrounded by nothing but nature and peace.

She really couldn't believe he'd gone to this kind of trouble! Even if he had been happier recently, she'd made him mad so often before, it still didn't seem real...

But she couldn't tell him that he shouldn't have. Not when he could...well, take it so literally. She didn't expect much from him, but when she got something, the last thing she wanted was to make him mad and have it all taken away again.

She let her smile grow wider, and she looked up at him, "Oh, Chandler...they're beautiful...thank you."

Her husband smiled back at her and dropped a soft kiss on her cheek. He'd have gone for her lips but he'd rather not get stained with her ruby red lipstick – his favourite colour, she knew.

"Nothing but the best for the best wife!" he replied, squeezing her a little in a gentle hug.

He then crouched in front of her eight-month-old belly and cupped it in his hands.

"Your Mommy is truly something, Junior!" he said with an adoring smile – a smile that made C.C. warm inside with how loving and adoring it was.

He got mad a lot, but C.C. knew he was the best husband she could hope for. And she knew he'd love their little one with all his heart. She knew it from the way he'd make her sit between his legs after they'd made love, with her bare back to his equally bare chest.

She knew it from the way he would place his hands on her belly and gently stroked it, nuzzling her neck and, sometimes, whispering his love for her and their baby.

It was the side she'd fallen in love with – the side she didn't always see, after she'd done something wrong and made him show his...other side.

It wasn't a full side, though. It was...just a phase, whenever she'd been the one in the wrong. He wasn't mean...was he? How could he be mean when he was capable of such kindness?

It was her fault – if she were a better wife, he would never have to be mad. That's why she had to strive to better herself and her behaviour around him. She wanted so badly to have a happy home...

She wished it could be like this every day.

"And your Daddy here is too kind," she said, covering his hands with hers.

"Oh, nonsense! I'll spoil this kid rotten, when he's out!"

"Can't wait for that, actually, he's been kicking like crazy in there..." C.C. said, frowning a little.

She'd never say it, but she wasn't sure how to feel about calling the baby "him" all the time. Chandler had started it the minute they'd found out she was pregnant and hadn't stopped. It was like he was expecting it to be a boy, and nothing else would do.

She didn't know what would happen, if the baby was a girl, in the end. Would her husband get mad? How could he? That couldn't be her fault, could it? Even she knew she didn't get to decide!

Nobody had ever told her that women decided the sex of the baby – perhaps there was a special way of positioning herself underneath her husband during conception? Not that anybody had ever thought to mention it to her, if so.

She thought she'd really be able to do with the advice, if they had a daughter instead of a son.

But that wasn't a worry for that night. Chandler might start to ask questions, and when he asked questions, she'd usually get upset and things would get...complicated.

He was still in too good a mood for her to accidentally open her mouth and ruin it all. It was best that she kept quiet. She didn't want to end the run that they'd had recently.

Chandler chuckled at what she'd said, completely unaware of what she was thinking.

"Ah, we've got a little quarterback on our hands!" he cried out, clearly delighted. "He'll be a star by the time he's ready for college! An athlete, with his mother's good looks and a way with the ladies..."

The way he said that made C.C. want to squirm, but she didn't. It made her think about things that she rather wouldn't – Chandler's long business trips, for instance.

She knew that men had needs, and that wives couldn't always be there to fulfil them, but still...she didn't like to think of him with his other women. And she knew he had them – he didn't openly tell her so, but he made enough jokes with his friends, when they came over for drinks, and he had come home too many enough times smelling of other people's perfume and sweat for it to be a coincidence.

He still came home like that, and she never knew when he would. It still cut her as deeply as the first time – it made her feel less special. Even if she was his wife, the idea that that could all be forgotten, whenever he felt like it, all because of a need...

Not that she ever said a word. Not after the first time, when asking about it had gotten her a snapped reply and a whole day of silent treatment after.

She just had to stop thinking about it. A husband's wants had to come first, that was paramount. And if they didn't get going soon, they'd miss being on time for their reservation.

"He's certainly going to be something," she agreed, making sure the pride came through in her voice before she brought up the idea of going to dinner.

She adored their little one already, and she wanted to make sure that Chandler knew it. He might take it the wrong way if she just jumped into talking about their reservation, though. She had to keep her mind on both, and slide into one from the other.

They were going to be a real family, full of love and togetherness, once the baby had come. But before then, they were two happily married and expectant parents, going to enjoy a nice meal that Chandler was so generously going to take her to.

"But, maybe, we should get going...?" she suggested quietly, stroking at her husband's fingers. "We do have a dinner waiting for us..."

Chandler's eyes flicked up to hers, and C.C.'s breath slowed in her throat.

She'd just done it again, hadn't she? She'd made him mad and the nice streak they'd had going was over. She'd said the wrong thing. To him, she was probably being rude and trying to hurry their tender moment along for no good reason!

He was going to rip the necklace off her neck, and pull off the fur. If she was going to be so impatient, she could go without the gifts that he'd spent time and money on. They'd been the things that had made them "late", after all...

But that didn't happen, no matter how long she waited.

Chandler simply said "Alright."

And then he stood up, kissed her cheek again and called for their butler.

Their butler, whom she'd been trying to...well, whom she hadn't given quite so much of a hard time, ever since the events of the other day. It hadn't seemed possible to do that, even if it might've been for the best. She didn't want to go looking for trouble, because she usually found it when she did. But...well, he'd always seemed to be there afterwards, and that felt...comforting, she supposed.

Had Niles known that, he would've swelled a little bit with pride he wouldn't have been able to hide nor fully describe. He'd been watching over Mrs Graves like a hawk ever since he'd silently made his vow, and he didn't have any plans to stop.

He had already known he was going to be needed that particular night, too. His master had told him so – "Don't go too far later, Brightmore; myself and Mrs Graves will be going out and we need you to be there to get the door," he'd said.

As such, he'd waited not far from the entry hall, waiting for a moment he might need to step in, and he'd seen everything that had just happened.

Of course, he'd helped to bring the boxes in that had contained Mrs Graves' new, fine things, but he hadn't even dreamed of asking what was in them. As much as he wanted to, it wasn't his place to know – unless something had been ordered to the house, he had no business asking what was in any package that came in or went out of it.

He hadn't imagined that the boxes that had come from his master's car would be these...bribes to win back Mrs Graves' affection!

That was all he could think of them. He couldn't understand how one man – even a rich, powerful man – could have the sheer audacity to buy back the love of a woman he'd beaten black and blue! Did he have no shame, or sense of morals?! Did he know that it was a coward's way out of apologising, or doing anything actually meaningful?!

He didn't know. He could only suspect that Mr Graves knew exactly what he was doing, and how to play the game. That's all it would be to him – a game that he intended to win, each and every time.

It made Niles want to explode with frustration, knowing that Mrs Graves had to overly gush about how much she loved the things, too. Praise and laud and honour, to stop herself from being on the wrong end of a fist, or palm, or foot. It was too much, and clearly all designed to placate.

This wasn't happiness, it was a hostage situation.

And that made it all the harder as he reached the front door, having to open it in order to let his employers go out to the car. Mr Graves liked to drive and he'd insisted on doing it himself that night.

His stomach nearly emptied itself at the thought of what that might mean, in terms of the car ride. But he had to keep the small smile plastered to his lips anyway.

"Have a good evening, sir, madam..."

He thought – hoped? – he saw a brief smile pass Mrs Graves' lips at that, but her husband took over speaking and moved between them so he couldn't see to be sure.

"We certainly will, Brightmore," Chandler replied as he wrapped an arm around his wife. "You and the rest of the staff are off for the night – enjoy!"

Niles honestly wished that he could. But he hadn't enjoyed anything since he'd found out what went on in that place, and he certainly wasn't going to enjoy sitting in his room imagining all the awful things that could be happening to Mrs Graves during the evening.

In the restaurant...in the car...what if he stopped the car on some abandoned country road and insisted on his so-called "marital rights" then and there?! The woman would have no way of stopping it!

He felt helpless. Useless. How could he possibly make any difference in his mistress' life if he couldn't prevent the things that were happening to her?!

He wished, just once, that he could wipe the smarmy, smug grin off that bastard's face. He didn't deserve to wear a smile that said he had it all but could take even more whenever he wanted. He wasn't a god or a king, and he didn't deserve to be treated like one.

And it was just Niles' bad luck that he had to act as though his master was either of those things, probably inflating his enormous ego even more than beyond its current dirigible-size capacity.

He had to watch as they walked away towards the car, Mr Graves' arm around Mrs Graves as though he had never raised that hand to her in his life.

Chandler, meanwhile, didn't notice the open glare their butler was giving into the evening. He was too busy letting C.C. lean her weight on him as they walked to the car.

He even encouraged her as they walked, "Gently, now...easy does it..."

He didn't want a single thing happening to his wife or the precious little boy she was carrying inside her! This was his legacy she was protecting, and he had to step up and protect her in return. He wouldn't be even half the man he was if he didn't do that!

That little boy, who'd have his mother's looks and his father's charm, was going to be the single most important thing in his life. He'd get the best of everything, and everything he wanted. He'd go to the finest schools and colleges, get a place in the same firm Chandler already worked for...

He'd never want for anything. As would each and every single child C.C. bore for him after their firstborn son.

He couldn't wait. It was going to give him such a sense of pride to be able to walk through the door, only to hear a small crowd of children shout "Daddy!" and run to him because they'd missed him and wanted him back...

He grinned a little bit to himself, before looking up from C.C. to quickly check how far they'd made it from the door, and how long there was left until they reached the car.

"You're doing just fine. We're almost there," he smiled. "We'll be having a delicious dinner in no time...!"

He'd spare no expense – they had more than enough money to dine out every night for the rest of their lives and still their fortune would be in the millions. Her father had provided her with a generous dowry back when they'd gotten married – around five million bucks, which had added to his impressive fortune of ten million dollars, given to him by his good father when he'd become a man.

It was only fair, really, that he'd gotten married to such a fine specimen – she was a member of the two most influential families in America: the Babcocks and the Rockefellers. Her pedigree had no match among polite society. She was the child of Stewart Babcock – heir to one of the biggest fortunes in America, as well as the incumbent chief judge of the United States Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit – and Barbara Rockefeller, a woman famous for her brains, looks and fortune.

But her lineage extended further back than her parents – her grandparents, both from the maternal and paternal side of her family, had been Senators. Her whole damn family was littered with some of the most influential people in American history, and Chandler couldn't be prouder to have bagged this prized hind. She was the wife he deserved, and a worthy mother for any children he would have.

And he intended to have as many with her as he could. It was only right that a rich, powerful, well-connected man left as great a family behind him. A family that would carry on his name and be remembered for generations to come.

He could already see a vision of the future – a picture of some family gathering, decades from that moment. In it, he saw a room of tall, strong men in fine suits with various shades of golden hair, standing to toast a portrait that hung over the fireplace while their wives sat nursing and tending to a whole new generation in their laps.

It was him in the portrait. They were honouring him, and thanking him for their success. For the wives (and mistresses, too; they'd deserve their fun) he'd helped them win over by passing on his charming smile and way with words. His daughters and granddaughters and generations after that would see him, too, and look to the portrait that would have to go next to his. They'd have to sigh in happiness and giggle at how like C.C. they were; golden-haired, sapphire-eyed goddesses who'd either already married well and were on their way to expanding their families, or plump and tender young flesh that some young man would find just ripe for the taking.

Of course, their parents would never let them do anything to dishonour the family name. They'd point at the portraits and say how disappointed and disgusted Grandfather and Grandmother would be, if they were anything less than virgins until their wedding nights.

Then, of course, the fathers would take their sons aside and laugh and joke about how many girls they'd had the night before. And then, the boys would be sent off into the night to find more to round up and have their way with.

Just like their Grandfather would want.

He'd be talked about for so many years, he'd end up something of a family legend. The man who'd put them all on the road to success, by marrying the finest and most beautiful woman in his city.

And to think it would all start, like a little acorn growing into a massive oak, from the baby C.C. was carrying in her belly!

He nearly got so over-excited that he leapt towards the car door. But he didn't – he remembered himself, and the fact that he was helping his gorgeous wife and their precious firstborn. His heir.

"Here we are," he said cheerfully, as he finally managed to grasp the door handle and open it to help C.C. inside. "Your carriage awaits, my lady..."

He pretended to bow, not unlike their butler would do. But with, obviously, more dignity. He'd opened the door because it was the gentlemanly thing for a husband to do, not because opening doors was part of his job!

Imagine making a mediocre living out of something so ridiculous...!

Well, he had to give credit where credit was due – their new butler was nothing but efficient. He might have never amounted to anything, but he certainly knew how to run a household. It was probably the fact that he was British – they bred butlers like dog breeders did purebreds. Efficiency, manners and impeccable training was what he looked for in a butler, and Mr Brightmore checked each and every one of the items on his list.

Once again, nothing but the best for himself and his family.

When C.C. was properly settled in her seat and her seatbelt fastened, Chandler rounded the car, jumped into the driver's seat and stuck the key into the ignition. The engine sprang to life with a thunderous roar – a testament to the impressive horsepower of Chandler's latest vehicular purchase: a Jaguar XK 120, a black, open two-seater and of the finest sports cars in the market. The perfect ride for him and his wife.

"Let's get this party started, shall we?" Chandler said, smiling at C.C. and pulling down their impressive driveway and through the wrought-iron gates that guarded the entrance to their magnanimous home.

Normally, Chandler held little regard for the speed limit, but with C.C. in the passenger seat, he might as well have gone at a snail's pace. He didn't want a single bump to disturb her, or the precious little boy she had in her belly. Heck, he'd never once in his life given so much as a hint of a crap about potholes, but he practically swerved to avoid any and all that he came across as they went along!

He was happy they'd left in plenty of time. He'd get to enjoy the slow drive, so his beautiful pregnant wife wouldn't be disturbed, and he'd get to show off his new wheels right alongside his budding family to anybody and everybody who passed them by.

Any man in his right mind would envy Chandler then. A nice car that practically shouted money, a wife men would line up to drool over, and the clear beginnings of a family that would carry on his name.

Life was good. Not yet as good as he deserved, but getting there. He'd gotten some of the things he'd wanted, but he was still trying to have it all. And he knew he could have it, too. He just had to wait for some of it, and then go out and take the rest. Just like a real man would and did; unapologetically, without any regret, and revelling in the triumph of what he'd gotten at the end of it.

Just like he'd teach his boy to do as well.

A startled "Oh!" brought him out of his happy musings, and he turned his eyes towards the source of the sound, faint but still audible over the wind and the speed of the moving car.

C.C. appeared to be giggling lightly and rubbing her belly, so he tapped her arm to make her look up.

"What is it?" he called out over the noise, slowing for the coming intersection. "What's the matter?"

C.C. shook her head and pointed to her belly.

"Baby kicked," she mouthed back.

Chandler felt his heart growing warm. He was getting that kid a football as soon as he was old enough to walk – they'd have a pro under their roof by the time he was old enough for high school!

Every time he thought about the baby, the future seemed to get a little better. And, as they started to cross the intersection, he reached out one hand to start to stroke the bump in his wife's belly. The bump that represented so much, in terms of family and future. The bump that would prove C.C. had already accomplished something as a wife, and had helped him – as a wife should – on the path to becoming a truly successful man.

The bump that–

**SLAM**

The heavy impact, plus the sickening bang and crunch combination that ended with a high-pitched scream he couldn't place, sent Chandler's head into a physical and mental reel as he felt himself flung about in his seat like Jell-O, held only in place by the seatbelt that he wouldn't have worn ordinarily. The headrest of his seat and the door pounded against his body, battering his head, chest and arms, and sending him tumbling into a blurred world of confusion and pain.

Literally blurred. Had he hit his head so hard...?!

What...what the hell had happened?!

When he finally managed to blink enough times to clear his vision, his mind had cleared enough to realise that his entire body hurt; his head felt wet with a trickle of blood he didn't care about, his ears were ringing with the force and the continuous, mysterious screams of fright and pain and his eyes were still struggling to peer through the...the smoke...?

Smoke, coming from the engine of his car. His beautiful new car...or what was left of it, alongside the newly merged remains of the car who'd crashed into him!

No...into _them_...!

C.C.! The car had hit from her side, it must have – he...he couldn't see it anywhere else! Not by him, or in front, anyway...was it just obscured by the smoke? No, it couldn't have been – people who'd seen what had happened were hurrying over from that direction!

And the screaming still hadn't stopped.

It took him far too long to realise that it was coming from right next to him, in the front passenger's seat.

And that could only mean one terrible, soul-crushing thing.

He turned, vision still probably not what it should've been and swaying from his own injuries, to face his wife...

Only to want to vomit at the sight and the sound at last hitting him and his brain realising that these terrified, agonised screams really were coming from the woman he had married. They were coming because her legs were being crushed together by the other car, as it had smashed its way through their vehicle and probably through the bones inside her.

He swallowed back bile to cry out, wrestling with his seatbelt to get it to open, "C.C.!"

He had to get to her, right away. He couldn't let the little strip of fabric that had, miraculously, kept them both in the car also prevent him from climbing over to his wife to...

To do what? What could he do?! He didn't know! As much as he'd brag to anybody about what he did and how much money he made, he wasn't a doctor! He didn't have the training or the knowhow for what was going on, and he wasn't some kind of miracle worker that could learn and deal with anything in the space of five minutes!

He hated having to admit that. It made him sick to think that all he could do was shout to the nearest of the bystanders to call an ambulance and get the police, as he shrugged off and pushed away all attempts to get him out of the car.

To get him away from his family.

That was never going to happen! He was free of his seatbelt by then and climbing over to see her.

"C.C.! It's alright, angel; you're gonna be okay! I'm coming – you're gonna be alright!"

Her screaming faded to agonised, petrified and gasping sobs as he got closer, his heart being torn to shreds as he watched her try to breathe and speak at the same time.

"Chandler...! Chandler, I'm...! I'm...!"

The bizarreness of the statement nearly stopped Chandler in his tracks.

"I'm" what? That didn't make any sense by itself! Was she just delirious from the pain?! Was there something else that kept getting lost in the hurt and the horror of what had just happened?!

He had to find out if it was the latter. It could be too crucial to the baby's wellbeing, or even her own!

"What is it, C.C.?!" he asked desperately, looking her over for injuries he hadn't seen before. "What's wrong?! You've gotta tell me, hon – I can't do anything about it unless I know!"

The next six words out of her mouth might as well have been another car that had hit Chandler personally.

"I think...I'm going into labour...!"

No. No, no, no – it couldn't be happening like that! It just couldn't be! The baby wasn't due for another month; he couldn't just suddenly be ready to pop out because of this! That wasn't how it worked, was it?! Babies stayed in their mothers for nine months – until they were ready to be born!

Eight months was not ready to be born! It wasn't supposed to happen that way!

He wasn't supposed to be meeting his son yet. Was it possible that C.C. didn't know what she was talking about?! Maybe she'd confused some other feeling down there with the feeling of labour?! It hadn't exactly happened to her before, so why should she know for sure, all of a sudden, that she was going into labour?!

There had to be plenty of reasons that...that...there was blood...and (more bile-inducing) discharge...starting to drip from between her legs...!

If there were, C.C. didn't know any of them. She had just started screaming again as she cried, and everything in Chandler's body felt like joining her.

Blood down there could only mean one thing. The baby – he was coming, but there was something...something was wrong! The baby was...he didn't know! He didn't want to think about it! Thinking about it meant accepting it, and accepting it meant that it was real!

It couldn't be over. The dream couldn't be...

Chandler Graves had never begged for anything in his life – especially not from anything like a higher power that he'd never relied on to do anything he could go out and get himself – but he begged then. Pleaded. Implored the heavens to do something, anything, that would save the family he had worked so hard to put together, even as the people around tried to pull him out of the car, apparently to check that he was alright.

Not that he was going to let them. What did those plebeians know?! He wasn't going to leave C.C.'s side until they could get her safely to the hospital and the doctors told him that their son was perfectly healthy in every single way!

It all had to be okay – it had to be! She was supposed to be his wife, mother his children, keep his home! She was supposed to have this baby, and...and...

Out of the corner of his eye, he had just spotted movement, coming from the car that had crashed into them.

The driver. That fucking driver, who was now climbing out of his own wrecked vehicle. It was facing the wrong way – the idiot had been driving the wrong way, and now he was staggering around as though he had been hurt in the head worse than the whole crash had left Chandler, the baby, and C.C.!

But it wasn't the stagger of a head injury. Chandler had seen those. He'd also seen the stagger that he and his friends took on whenever they'd been late at a bar, or a club, or even in their own offices on a Friday afternoon.

The bastard was _drunk_. The bastard was drunk and had gotten into a fucking car to drive!

And, as much as the colour had horrified him just now, Chandler felt and saw a red mist descending over his vision.

He had released his wife, was on his feet and had gotten out of the car before he knew it; he knew exactly what to do when the mist fell over his eyes. It happened all the time – the rage was almost always the same.

But this time, the urge was even greater. The asshole he suddenly took off running towards (screw any injuries the bystanders were yelling at him about maybe having) had ruined everything! They'd been just fine and heading towards the future Chandler had planned when that bastard had sped into their lives and smashed into it until it had all broken!

Until his wife had been broken...the baby...

He slammed into the unsuspecting drunk fuck with all the force of the car he'd been driving, sending them both to the ground and yelling wordlessly in anger.

He pinned the struggling little coward there, starting to pummel him with his fists, across his face, neck, chest and upper body, screaming at him all the time even as the man tried to raise his arms to shield from the attack.

"You fucking bastard, you hit my car! My wife is pregnant and you hit our car! Look what you did, asshole! _Look what you did!"_

Chandler punctuated every statement with a shower of punches against the asshole's face, now bloody and broken thanks to his actions. Good – Chandler wanted him to hurt just as much as he was hurting. He'd pay for what he'd done to his family.

He didn't stop until he was dragged away by two newly-arrived police officers, who were screaming at him to calm down, to relax – screaming at him that his wife and child needed him right then. That was the only thing that seemed to rein in the businessman's explosive anger; the mention of his broken wife and child was enough to stop him dead in his tracks and direct his attention to a team of firefighters, working their absolute hardest to cut away the car to help free his trapped wife. Emergency medical technicians were waiting anxiously nearby, a stretcher already set up and prepared to load her into a waiting ambulance.

That made at least a fraction of Chandler relax.

The help had arrived.

"C'mon, pal, go to your wife," one of the officers said, "She needs you now – we'll deal with this fucker here. But if you kill him, we'll be forced to lock you up."

Had the policeman spoken to him like that on any other day, Chandler would have risen almighty hell – no one spoke to him that way, especially not some self-important lump of a policeman that thought himself so big and mighty. No, he was above them all, but today he simply didn't have the energy or the will to fight. How could he, when his world was crumbling around him?

So, he went, hurrying over to watch and take part where he could (mostly by talking to C.C. and answering the EMT's questions), as they eventually managed to pull her free of the wreckage and delicately manoeuvred her onto the stretcher.

The ambulance ride after that felt like a lifetime, even if it was only really a few minutes at the most. And, as they arrived, a small army of doctors was waiting to take C.C. through the hospital and straight into the operating theatre.

And Chandler, as he tried to march into the room behind them, intent on watching and making sure that nothing went wrong (and so he could ask questions about if anywhere would scar permanently), was marched right back out again by a nurse and two orderlies.

"Sir, I'm sorry but you can't go in," one of the two hospital nobodies had the nerve to say as they stopped him.

"Why not? That's my wife right there," he told them straight back, pointing and using the tone that he used with the lower orders at work.

It always worked at the office. It made the smaller men nod frantically, lower their eyes and scurry away to do whatever he had asked them to. But – frustratingly – it didn't seem to have any effect on any of the three.

Especially not on the pretty little filly of a nurse, who stepped forward to gesture like she was leading him away.

"Because no one is allowed into the OR, sir. I'm sorry, but you need to wait for your wife outside. Besides, you have a head injury that needs tending to. Come with me and we'll get it treated."

In his rush to follow C.C. and the doctors, Chandler had almost forgotten about the deep, stinging cut on his forehead. Being reminded brought the pain-and-ache back, and it made him want to get it taken care of.

Besides, the nurse didn't seem like she was going to change her mind about letting him in, so he (just for this one occasion) relented and went with her.

He still felt the need to demand to go back in, even all the way to the side room where the nurse insisted he sat down while she stitched up and bandaged his head. It almost felt ironic – pretty little things like her never usually denied him anything, outside of places like this one. A dance, a drink, a roll in the hay – he could get any of those things out of her at any other time. But with so much hanging in the balance, he disregarded his natural urges and feelings.

He didn't want to lose all of his reputation on the same night he lost...no, he wasn't going to think of it like that! The doctors were going to do everything they could and more – he'd throw money at them until they'd fixed it.

It had worked for every other problem he'd ever had. Schools, jobs – it had even got him a comfortable position away from fighting during both wars! If it couldn't save his family, then what was the point?!

He waited as patiently as he could while his head was cleaned, stitched up and bandaged, but it was still tough. He was used to getting what he wanted so it made him antsy when he had to follow other people's directions.

As such, he could only sullenly make his way to the waiting room that the nurse had taken him to and pointed out, once she was done stitching up his head. He had imagined that the first time he'd be in one of those places, he'd be pacing frantically for an announcement that would make him cheer and then suddenly start handing out cigars.

But no. He had to be here a whole month early, all because some bastard couldn't handle his liquor and just had to take it out on other people!

The things he'd do to that fucker, if he ever got his hands on him, again...! He'd tear him apart with his bare hands! There wouldn't be enough left to fucking bury, by the time he was done with him!

He had to know someone who could find out who the guy was. That was, if the police didn't willingly surrender the information themselves.

They all thought themselves so smart, but they'd never catch on that it was him. If anybody suspected foul play, of course. But Chandler knew how to be careful, and how to act like nothing ever happened in his vicinity.

One could forgive an act of anger that was carried out in the heat of the moment, under the stress of seeing his badly injured wife go into premature labour. The guy had deserved a beating, everybody agreed on that.

But who would suspect an upstanding businessman, husband and new-time father of committing an...arguably worse act, all for the sake of completing the "revenge" that the whole world probably assumed he'd already fully gotten? In their eyes, how could he not have, when he'd beaten the guy black and blue, before seeing him arrested?

None of them understood. They weren't the ones with an entire family hanging in the balance now – they didn't have pregnant wives carrying heirs to fortunes and names, that only had a month left to go before they would've been born naturally.

Naturally, and completely healthy. How could they be completely healthy now? A whole month seemed like a long time for his little boy to be out, when he still should've been growing in his mother's belly...

He didn't want to think about it being too early, but how could he possibly think about anything else?! Babies weren't just born whenever they wanted to be – there was a set time for a reason!

How was his boy...going to come out? Would he be...right? Or would there be something about him that would make Chandler tell C.C. that they were trying again, as soon as possible?

He was willing to do that, obviously, but he didn't want the stigma of an heir apparent that didn't seem right in polite society. Well, if that was the case there was always the option of dropping the little runt at some isolated orphanage and telling the rest of their family that their child had died tragically in the accident. It would save them a world of trouble and their family would be none the wiser about any stain to their lineage.

He was sure C.C. would agree to it – she was of fine breeding herself, she understood these things. He'd give her some time to recover and then they'd try again. She wouldn't leave the house under any circumstances, therefore keeping her and their future child safe.

Still, he was an optimist. He was certain the doctors would be able to fix anything and that his boy was going to be delivered safe and sound. He'd be little, yes, but that was something that could easily be solved with regular feedings and maternal care. And he'd certainly be getting both, if he knew his C.C.. One of the reasons why he'd married her was because he'd seen just what a potentially amazing mother she could be.

When he'd first met her, he'd felt…well… a little disgusted by her, if he was being honest. He remembered they were at some social gathering, but instead of gossiping with the other ladies, she'd been discussing economics with a number of businessmen! It was preposterous! She'd somehow gotten the idea that just because she'd graduated top of her class from Columbia Business School she was competent enough to engage in intelligent conversation with _men_. Luckily for her, his keen and observant eye had spotted the potential wife in her. She'd just needed a firm hand and a good man to show her the error of her ways. It had taken him a while, but after a few well-deserved corrections, the wife in her had blossomed.

Yes, she was well on her way to becoming the perfect wife, now. And she should really consider herself lucky that that was so easy, given their class and money status. She didn't have to cook for him, or clean, or do the laundry. They had a gardener for their grounds and a butler to take and hang up his coat at the end of his workday. They weren't like those little plebeian nobodies out there. They got to enjoy life. For her, that meant looking pretty, sitting quietly and hosting lunches for all the other well-to-do wives in the vicinity.

And, of course, opening her legs whenever he told her to. That was obviously for his enjoyment, but he still got a great sense of satisfaction whenever she cried out his name in the kind of pleasure only he could give. He didn't like the days where he had to tell her to pretend to enjoy it – it said something about his performances that he didn't like. She should always enjoy it, without him telling her to. He'd never had a complaint about his manhood from outside the house, and he'd prefer a straight run. The thought went nicely with is reputation of being an utter stallion of a man.

He was so lucky, he'd managed to get her cut off from her father with so little effort or time taken as well, before she'd had a chance to meet a lot of men her age outside of education.

She didn't need anybody else in her life. Once a wife was married, they didn't belong to their old family anymore, and Chandler knew this, even if other people didn't always seem to subscribe to the tradition. So, he'd taken C.C. away, forged a couple of letters that told her father she never wanted to contact them again, and that had been that.

They'd been each other's only family ever since, and it had been just perfect.

Besides, his father-in-law had never liked him. Not that it mattered, because C.C. had belonged to Chandler from the moment they'd been married, so Stewart couldn't exactly complain.

He was married. He should know how to control a wife. If he did, then they could've been regularly laughing about it over a glass of port, but no. He thought he'd been "protecting his little girl"...

From what, Chandler didn't know. Women were born to go out there, get married, and become the wives their husbands wanted them to be. C.C. had started her journey off with aplomb, and if Stewart didn't understand that, then he wasn't sure how the guy had been married in the first place!

It clearly didn't take a lot of brain power to become a judge, these days...

Regardless, Stewart might have been an idiot, but he was a powerful idiot. He was well connected and had more influence than Chandler could ever dream of having, something that fed his own hatred for the old man. At least he'd won the fight where it really mattered – intimacy. His own treasured daughter had chosen Chandler over Stewart. He was the better man and would always be.

And soon enough, his wife would have delivered a little copy of himself that would grow to follow on in his footsteps and become a giant of a man, just like his old man.

The thought made Chandler smile in spite of himself – the situation might have been dire, but hope was the last thing to be lost. He just had to be patient and hope for the best. His wife was no weakling, and he was sure she'd be up to the task that Providence had allotted to the weaker sex.

That was, of course, easier said than done. Minutes might as well have been hours and no one – not a single nurse or doctor – would tell him anything. It was just after half past eight, almost two hours after his wife had been taken away, that a nurse walked into the waiting are carrying a small bundle.

A bundle, Chandler realised, that was his heir! His son!

He was on his feet in the blink of an eye and running towards the nurse, heart hammering against his chest and happiness bursting in his heart. He had a son! His wife had given him a–

"It's a girl, Mr Graves," the nurse said, smiling, "A very healthy little girl."

Chandler's feet couldn't have skidded to a halt faster than if he'd suddenly realised he was running into the path of an oncoming train.

He...he couldn't have heard her right, could he? Had she just said that baby was a girl?

How could it possibly be a girl?! They'd been preparing all this time for a boy – with the sporting toys, the books, the _blue decorations_ in the nursery! And now it was all going to be wasted on a girl? His dreams of the perfect firstborn son had been snatched away in the blink of an eye, and replaced with a daughter?!

He didn't even think they had a name for a girl kid! What good would the one he'd picked out for a boy be, on a kid who couldn't carry it? Who wouldn't end up carrying either of his names?!

He looked around, just to check once more that he was definitely alone in that waiting room. Checking that she wasn't talking to some other sad sack who hadn't had the good fortune to have a boy.

A boy. Just like his wife was supposed to have. A firstborn son, who'd grow up to be just like him, with good looks and charm and influence that the rest of the world would envy! And when he was busy running for local office, or perhaps even the Senate, when people asked him where he'd gotten all of those things from, he could say "I owe it all to my father".

But the nurse was looking at him, and seemed to be holding the girl in a fashion that suggested he should take the baby.

The thought couldn't have repelled him more if it had tried.

What the hell was he supposed to do with a girl?! A girl couldn't run for office, or lead a business conglomerate, or carry on his family name into the future! His wife hadn't given him an heir – all she'd done was create a future baby factory for some other man to make his legacy inside!

And even that wouldn't happen for years! What was he going to do in the meantime?! Girls couldn't play sports, or enjoy cars, or go hunting – those were all things he'd planned for his son! Nobody noticed girls until they grew into a womanly shape, and once they were that shape, they were only good for one thing!

He'd been planning on teaching all of that to his son, too.

There had to be a mistake. And if there wasn't, then C.C. was going to have to hear about it from him, as soon as possible.

He looked up at the nurse from the little accident, no longer smiling at all.

"Where's my wife?"

If he weren't so caught up in his own misery at the baby situation, he would've noticed the look of disgust on the nurse's face at his sudden turn, over the fact that she'd said the child was a girl.

She took another step forward, pressing the child into her father's arms, even as she could see his mouth clearly trying to form a protest.

"Your wife is still in surgery, Mr Graves," she said firmly and a little angrily. "As you can see from your beautiful little daughter, her caesarean section was a complete success. Now, however, the doctors are working on your wife's fractured femur. Since it will need metal plates for her to make a complete recovery."

Chandler opened and closed his mouth several times, his mind trying to catch up with what the nurse was saying. Me..._metal plates_?! They were going to stick _metal plates_ in his wife's leg – and no one had consulted him? Asked if that was what he wanted, or if he would be alright with it?! How could they just spring that on him while it was happening?!

There had to be something they could do that was less extreme, couldn't there? Something that would do the exact same job?

"_Metal plates?"_ he echoed, tone hardened yet still uncomfortable as he tried to balance the kid the way he'd seen other people doing it. "Why those? Isn't there something else they can do?"

The nurse frowned at him in a kind of disapproval he didn't care for, but could easily ignore. It wasn't like it was coming from anybody particularly important.

"No, Mr Graves, there isn't anything else that the doctors wish to try. It's their professional opinion that this method will give your wife the best chance at making a full recovery. At walking again."

Chandler felt an unpleasant twisting sensation in his organs, which he suppressed with a deep breath.

"I see," he said shortly, before continuing in his own hope. "And I don't suppose they could...come up with something else at the last minute?"

"No, sir," the nurse replied, her previous hint of irritation quickly growing. "Your wife has already gone in for her surgery, and it'll be some time before she comes back out. You are welcome to wait in her room, with your daughter, if you'd like."

Chandler's expression dropped; her explanation followed by that suggestion might as well have been a slap in the face. Not that he had many other options apart from taking it. At least in the privacy of his wife's unwarranted post-op room, nobody would see him facing his greatest humiliation. No one would see him trying – and failing, he was loathe to admit – to get a grip on the girl, either. He just didn't know if he was doing it right. He'd never held a kid in his life, and now he was expected to hold the one he didn't order? Maybe he'd know what to do if the kid had been a boy, but he certainly wasn't getting it right then!

If C.C. wasn't in a surgery he hadn't anticipated (or had to wait for, as irritating as that was), she would be doing this. If either of them knew about girls – well, certain parts of girls, anyway – it was her. But the nurse had said she'd just had a caesarean section and was now back in surgery for her...new, inserted metal plates, and those were things he did know about! He knew they were going to leave scars – right across his wife's perfect stomach, and up her smooth, milky thigh!

How could he look at her now, knowing those ugly, gross things would never go away? It was like...like putting ink blots or a smudge on a Rembrandt! Or letting a Murano piece crack and displaying it anyway! They ruined the beauty, and drew the eye so that he'd never be able to look anywhere else!

Not that he'd be getting to look any time soon, an even more bitter part of his mind pointed out. Broken bones and hideous metal plates meant being bed-bound, and being bed-bound sounded a lot less fun when he realised that if he wanted C.C.'s bones to mend any time soon, he couldn't be opening her up every other half hour to put some time in.

No perfect-all-over wife. No sex. No car, a stupidly long wait for something he'd never asked for...and to top it all off, a daughter instead of a son! How could his day possibly get any worse?!

He didn't know the answer to that, but there had to be something out there, lurking, waiting for him to not suspect a thing before it struck. For the moment, though, it appeared to be over. And would be kept at bay while he was somewhere out of public sight.

"Fine," he eventually said, taking hold of the kid as best he could to prepare for the walk to C.C.'s room. "Where is it?"

The nurse looked like she was holding in a sigh as she spoke, "If you follow me, I'll take you there."

Chandler was more than ready to go, and the nurse took him and the kid back through the corridors and up a flight in the elevator, turning onto a new wing and soon coming to a comfortable private room that had a visitor's chair he could collapse into. It was far better than those flimsy, awkward seats they gave to just about anybody who walked in off the street downstairs...

The nurse studied his position, not even attempting to hide her disapproval.

"Now that you're seated, I'll go find a bassinet for your daughter," she said, turning away. "It will offer her the support she needs right now."

Chandler held his tongue, even if he didn't want to, and let her leave. It pissed him off to let her get away with blatant disrespect – after everything he was already going through! – but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

So, it was just him there in the quiet, along the kid he'd never meant to have a hand in making. He stared down at her, half in his arms and half in his lap, looking at the little head and face that stuck out of her blankets.

At least she was cute, he had to give her that. A wisp of blonde hair, round cheeks...he wondered if her eyes would be sapphire blue, when they opened. At least then, he could hold out hope that she'd grow up looking exactly like her mother. She already did, for the most part. That helped soothe the notion that she hadn't been a boy, in some ways – it meant that at least, she might get a husband from it.

He wouldn't have given C.C. the time of day if she hadn't looked the way she had...

His mind couldn't help but get to working, with that thought firmly lodged in there. And the idea clicked in his head like a lightbulb coming on. If he raised an absolutely stunning daughter, he'd have to have the cream of the crop of young, powerful, handsome men with rich, powerful fathers lining up to take her out, wouldn't he? And one of them would be bound to marry her, sooner or later – and in the meantime, he could use all the business contacts to further his own plans!

Yeah...yeah, he could make that work. But it relied on her looking just the way a man wanted, not a single thing less. If she turned out too short, had no breasts or ass, and couldn't dress or wear makeup to save her life, then they might as well throw her out and try again.

And, for the very first time, Chandler Graves leaned over his daughter to speak to her.

"You'd better look exactly like your mother when you grow up, or I'm personally dumping you on the doorstep of the nearest orphanage."

The baby mewed then, almost as if it had heard her father's threat, and as her mewing turned into crying, Chandler soon found himself regretting having disturbed the girl's sleep by opening his mouth.

"Oh, no, you are not doing this to me…" the new father complained, rocking the child in his lap as best he could to try and shut it up. "Go back to sleep – go back to sleep now!"

But the baby completely disregarded Chandler's demands, continuing to cry instead. They got louder and more piercing with every breath, no matter what he did, until his ears were ringing and he couldn't even hear himself think, let alone speak!

Just when he thought he was going to snap and rush out into the corridor to toss the little runt into the nearest trashcan, the nurse came back, wheeling a hospital bassinet in front of her. She abandoned it practically immediately when she saw what she'd come back to. Instead, she hurried over with her arms out, demanding the kid back even before she spoke.

"I'll deal with this, pass her over," she barked, giving him a dirty look as he handed the kid to her. "Learning to calm a crying baby is Parenting 101."

Chandler didn't know what she'd done, but after only a few moments in the nurse's arms, with some...some kind of rocking and gentle words...the kid's crying softened away into faint mews, before stopping entirely. The nurse then slipped her into the bassinet with no trouble whatsoever. Relieved, Chandler just let it happen, and didn't even attempt to go back over to see the kid. If it was just going to screech at him any time he went near it, what was the point?

Instead, he went back to the chair he'd selected for himself, only just holding in a groan when the nurse wheeled the bassinet – and the once screaming little asshole inside – over to stand by his chair.

"You might as well both be comfortable while you wait," she said pointedly, almost sneering.

Chandler didn't really care if the bitch had thought he was too far away from the kid, but he did care about the attitude she was still giving him. Just who the fuck did she think she was, ordering him around like she was in charge when he was the man in the room? Telling him how to wait, where to wait...

"How long is it going to be?"

He deserved to know at least that part. Knowing might give him back some kind of control.

"Between two and four hours, depending on how everything goes during the surgery," the nurse replied. "I shall be back around then to assist. Enjoy some bonding time with your daughter in the meantime."

The little bitch couldn't have sounded more sardonic if she'd tried, but she turned on her heel and walked out before Chandler could so much as demand her name to take to a supervisor. If he'd been just a little faster, that cunt wouldn't have had a job the next day...

He huffed to himself instead, sinking back into the chair and settling in for the long haul. He didn't even look at the kid – who knew if it wouldn't just explode on him again?

At least the room had a television; that was the kind of service he was paying for...!

He spent the next hours staring at the screen, not really caring what was on but just glad of the distraction. He tensed up every time he heard the kid make a noise, but luck was on his side because it didn't turn into full-blown wailing again. He got to actually enjoy a few shows in peace, and a couple of the nurses who weren't bitches didn't mind taking a dollar and some sweet words to go get him a coffee or two from the cafeteria.

He'd been through at least five cups by the time the doctors – and that shitty nurse – wheeled C.C. into the room.

He'd been geared up to say how it was about fucking time they brought her in, but the resolve to do it fell away as soon as he saw his wife there, still out of it in the bed. Pale as snow, oxygen mask over her face, with covers tucked up around her middle and both legs very clearly in casts underneath the sheets. She had a tube connecting her IV line stuck in one heavily cut and bruised arm, too – the other matched it perfectly for injuries.

Those would probably both scar for a while as well, knowing his luck. She'd given him a daughter, and now it was more obvious than every that her body was broken all over, too – he didn't even get the reprieve of a little unblemished skin! Not one nice thing to look at about the woman he'd married! They were going to fix that as soon as possible, obviously. It was just frustrating for now, when there was nothing he could do about it.

They'd have an agreement on it as soon as possible, though – she'd do everything she could to fix all of this. In fact, now she was back in the room, they could get started on their talk. She was still in bed, but she could recover and listen at the same time. She might be a little sleepy at first, but when she saw that it was him, that would soon go away.

Getting up from his chair, he went to go wake her. He knew exactly how to do it, all he needed was to shake her shoulder a little and she'd be up in no time. It was how he did things at home, whenever he needed her to be awake.

He waited for the medical staff to wheel her bed into place, then he was at her side in a flash, hand reaching out to touch her.

"C.C., come on; it's time to get up. We need to ta—"

"She'll be out for at least another hour," came that same interrupting, bitchy voice.

Chandler turned, only to see that the nurse hadn't left with the others and was instead hanging around like the unwanted bat she was.

He lowered his hand back to his side, clenching his fist, "So I can't wake her up? Not even if it's important?"

"I'm sure that whatever it is, it can wait for an hour," the nurse replied, folding her arms. "And I'm also certain that it cannot be more important than your wife's recovery. Let her rest and you'll get your chance shortly."

She then took her leave for the time being, after he'd retaken his seat, but Chandler suspected that she wouldn't go far. Probably keeping an eye on him, as though it were any of her goddamned business what he chose to do with his own wife! It wasn't like the doctor had come out and told him personally what to do, yet he found himself having to obey orders from somebody who wouldn't even qualify!

But still, he needed to have that talk with C.C., and he needed to be there when she woke up to do it. So, as steamed as it left him, he waited for the hour to pass. The nurse – as expected, even if she wasn't welcome – came in and out at different intervals to check on his wife's IV and to look at the kid.

When he eventually heard a whimpering, he was afraid it was coming from the baby again at first. But then he realised it was coming from further away and sounded more like an adult.

Fucking finally, she was waking up!

He was out of his seat again in an instant, heading straight back to where Nurse Repugnant had told him to keep his distance before. C.C.'s eyes were half-open when he got there, and she was...sort of muttering in an indistinct panic between bouts of moaning. Whatever they'd knocked her out with, it'd done a number on her. But Chandler knew he could wait it out and get her to relax so that she came out of it, even if it would be his actual luck if the damage was permanent and he was now stuck married to a broken vegetable...

"Hey, doll – it's okay, I'm here..." he murmured gently, leaning over her a little so that she could see his face while her eyes opened up. "See? I'm here."

It took a few tries and a longer, more tedious time than Chandler had originally expected and hoped for, but the sound of his voice did appear to bring her back to the waking world.

As it registered more that she was being spoken to, C.C. turned her head and began to smile faintly at him. Not that Chandler even attempted one in return. She looked like hell, and he wasn't going to smile at that. He'd do it when she was back on her feet, had a little makeup on and was wearing some of her nice clothes again.

Now was the time to get down to business.

"You feeling better?" he asked curtly, only half out of actual wondering.

The rest was out of the fact that the nurse was back in the doorway and he didn't want her snooping any more than she already was.

C.C. tried to shift, found she couldn't without hurting herself somehow and decided to stop. Besides, she didn't want Chandler to get upset by her fidgeting, or delaying her answer. He didn't like hearing about her problems when he had enough of his own, so she didn't want to burden him with her discomfort. She supposed she was feeling better, anyway. The pain would go away – she'd get over it. It just had to be the c-section they'd told her about before she'd gone in...though it didn't explain why her legs wouldn't move...and felt like they were made out of rocks...

"Mostly..." she mumbled slowly, blinking and trying to wake herself up more. Chandler would want her to be fully present for their conversation. "What...what happened to my legs...?"

Chandler just stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Here it was, that shitty luck he'd had today, coming back to give him a quick bite on the ass and remind him that it was still there. Of fucking course he was now going to have to explain absolutely everything that he'd been told while she was too busy being under anaesthesia!

The only saving grace that was keeping him from losing it was that it could all be reversed and managed in time. The one thing that couldn't had been put in the bassinet and was in the process of being wheeled over next to her mother by the nurse who couldn't mind her own business.

"That bastard broke both of your legs. The doctors had to put metal plates in one of them," he explained shortly, giving only a momentary glance towards the kid. "And you had a girl, not a boy."

C.C.'s face dropped in horror, panic spreading as she reached up as much as she could to look down at...two large, leg-shaped lumps, covered by the sheets. _Casts_. Her...her legs really were broken...! She hadn't made it unscathed through the crash and now she had all of this to show for it! How was she going to look nice for Chandler when she had those things keeping her from even sitting up right? And metal plates?! How was that even going to work?

She turned to her husband again, searching for any sign of comfort, further explanation or warmth on his part, hoping that maybe he'd say it was all going to be okay, whatever happened. This wasn't her fault, it was out of their control...

But she only found him looking accusingly between her and the bassinet next to her bed.

He'd...he'd said she'd had a girl. Not a boy.

What was the matter with her?! Why hadn't she given Chandler the boy he'd so desperately wanted?! Why did it have to be a girl?! She'd tried everything possible, read all the books and taken all the advice from them that she'd been able to find – her husband had expected a boy all that time! How could she have gotten it so badly wrong? Chandler had been expecting more from her and she'd let him down, right from the very start!

C.C. felt the tears well up like waves, spilling over in her eyes and pain spreading in her chest as she started to cry.

"I'm sorry, Chandler...! I...I know you wanted a boy...!"

Chandler would have replied that yes, he fucking wanted a boy, but again, the stupid, snooping nurse was there still, now away from the baby and fidgeting with some of the many cables and machines that the staff had connected to his wife when they'd brought her in. She was doing all that, instead of leaving them alone. She was overstaying her welcome, and Chandler's patience was running thin.

But...well, perhaps he needed to tone it down a little and keep it to himself just this once. C.C. probably was still in pain, after all. And that nurse might've been getting on his nerves but she might do a whole lot worse if she went sniffing around too much. Besides, he couldn't deal with all the weeping and wailing that would go with C.C. getting more upset than she already was – they weren't in a Gothic novel, for Christ's sake!

He'd calm her down and then he'd go home (she clearly would have to stay overnight – it didn't take a genius to see that). There wasn't much he could do beyond that.

"Hey, you don't have to cry – it's okay," he crouched as best he could by her bedside, putting an arm around her shoulders and using a thumb to wipe away even a hint of the tears. He couldn't stand to see those wet trails they left after. "We'll get past this."

And, as soon as was physically possible, he'd put another baby in her. He'd make damn sure that it was a boy, too. The son he deserved, to make up for the weak little girl he'd been given instead.

Thinking of that actually gave him an idea. Maybe if C.C. held the baby, then her mothering instincts or whatever would kick in? Maybe that would get her to stop crying without him having to tell her?

Her crying was already turning to slower, more even breathing in his half-hold, but there were still sniffles in there that were trying to desperately make their way in under Chandler's skin. Holding the baby could make that all stop, couldn't it?

He looked back over at the bassinet, slipping his arm out from behind C.C. again as he thought.

Yeah...it wasn't a bad plan at all. It was probably something else he'd eventually be able to be smug about, around his colleagues who were tearing their hair out over the fact that their own kids and wives would never stop whining. Meanwhile, he'd know the secret to getting peace and quiet in his household.

"In fact, why don't we bring the new one over?" he asked as brightly as he could.

Turning to the little bed, he gingerly picked up the little bundle. He still hadn't gotten the hang of holding the kid, even if the nurse had tried to teach him. If everything went as he wanted it to, he'd hardly ever have to hold her anyway, so it didn't really flag up as a problem for him.

"Here," he told his wife, trying to pass the baby to her. "Why don't you try holding her for a little while? She is yours, after all."

C.C. blinked up at him, last of the tears falling as she hesitated. She knew she should hold the baby, but did she really want to? She knew she'd made her husband mad and upset by giving him a girl, even if he wasn't openly yelling, or saying it yet – what if he got mad because she began to favour her, instead of the sons they'd no doubt eventually have? What if, in loving her baby, she began loving her too much and Chandler felt left out?

Not that Chandler was going to take her reluctance as an answer.

"Ah, come on," he held the baby out even more firmly, trying to put an encouraging, friendly lilt into his tone. "She's gonna be gorgeous – I can feel it already! And we'll get her married off to some wealthy young gent who'll give her as good a life as I give you; but she's gonna have to meet her mother before too long. No time like the present."

The implied "now" was firm in those last words, and C.C. knew what it meant. It meant she had to do as she was told, or there would be trouble. So, trying hard not to shake too much, she reached up to receive her daughter from her husband's arms, ignoring the quietly muttered "Finally...!" coming from his mouth.

He was probably just relieved she was going to take their girl. He had to be, didn't he? He didn't seem...too mad, for the time being – he was even starting to bend down again so that he could slip an arm around her shoulders. He looked like he was watching over them both from his position, as well as checking the door. The nurse had gone through just as she'd taken the baby, so maybe...maybe he was wondering if he should close it for privacy?

It didn't matter for now. They'd get all the time alone they needed soon enough. She brought the girl down close to her chest, and moved aside the blanket to get a good look at her face.

Her...small, round, beautiful little face, framed in soft blonde hair...and her tiny hands, with even tinier fingers!

She felt herself warming from the inside-out. Chandler had been right. Their girl was gorgeous! She couldn't have looked more like a little angel, and in spite of her pain and the sadness at her husband's anger, C.C. couldn't help but start to smile and gently rock her girl.

Her little baby girl...

"Hello," she cooed, "I am your mommy. I…I've been wanting to meet you for a long, long while…"

The little girl began to mew in response, getting a little louder with each cry. Gently, C.C. laid her daughter on her chest, shushing her and rhythmically patting her little bum with one of her hands, She'd seen other women do that, when their own children were on the verge of getting upset, and judging by the baby's noises slowly losing strength again, C.C. could guess it was serving its purpose.

"What's wrong, little one?" she continued to coo, nuzzling her baby and feeling her heart swelling with a kind of love she'd never felt before. Not even for Chandler.

It was a kind of love that knew no bounds. Love that was complete and unconditional. She'd heard before that a mother's love was unlike anything in this world, but only now did she understand the extent of it. Moments ago, before holding her precious baby, she'd wondered if she'd ever be able to love her, given that she wasn't what Chandler had wanted. Now…well, now she knew she'd gladly die for the little creature in her hold. Nothing else mattered – not Chandler, not his disappointment, not her broken body…

_Nothing_.

Nothing could compare, and C.C. knew right then and there that her daughter was the most precious thing she had in her life.

A long time ago, she'd read a book about Marie Antoinette. Both loved and reviled by her contemporaries, the woman had cemented her position as one of history's most infamous queens. She too had been expected to birth an heir to the Bourbon dynasty, and she too had delivered a little princess instead of the much-awaited son. Although separated by time and circumstance, C.C. felt a sense of kinship with the disgraced queen. The queen reportedly said that, had her child been a boy, he'd have belonged to the state, but since it had been a girl, she would be hers.

Had C.C.'s own child been a boy, he would have belonged to Chandler, but her daughter would be hers to have and hers to care for. A Dauphin would probably follow her in the future, but this little princess was C.C.'s.

And just as she made that promise to herself, something in C.C. – maybe her waking maternal instinct – told her just what their daughter wanted: food. She needed to be fed. That was why she was starting to fuss!

"Help me here," she said to her husband, shifting in his hold. "I think she's…she's hungry."

Chandler looked at her with a certain amount of confusion. What the hell did she expect him to do? It wasn't like he could do the feeding – not that he would, even if he was physically able! Women were supposed to deal with that by themselves, weren't they? Men got to stand and have the dubious pleasure of watching their joint second favourite toys get used for something else.

But, he supposed he did have to take into account the fact that C.C. couldn't exactly do very much by herself right now, so of course she was going to be asking him to do more than a man had to.

Than a man – especially a full, red-blooded one like him – was supposed to.

And as typical of his luck as it was, he had to suck it up and fill in where she'd normally be.

Where she would be, once she was well again. He'd be doing her a favour that she'd obviously want and feel obliged to repay, playing the doting, caring husband while she recovered. And once she was back on her feet, they could put this whole business behind them and start trying for a boy (that would be part of the favour – he'd expand on the rest as he thought of what he wanted).

They'd be back here again in no time, only this time, they'd get it all right. Not one more girl until they had a healthy boy that he could carry on his shoulders, and start training up to be just like his old man.

His legacy, starting to sprout.

So, he nodded, and took a couple of steps towards his wife and their baby.

"Alright, what do you want me to do?"

C.C. looked nervous, and it was just as well that she should've been. She knew what would happen if what she was asking was too much. And the expression on her face said that she was weighing up whether to even bother him with it at all.

Well, at least that proved she really was learning. But he wasn't going to try and trick her into saying any particular answer that time – it kept her on her toes, but there was also just no need for it right then.

He didn't do anything he did to keep her in line just whenever – it was only when she needed it. He wasn't an animal, for Pete's sakes!

"Can you hold her for a moment? J-just while I get settled and get my gown open..."

Had circumstances been different, part of him would have suggested that he said no, and to told her to do it all herself. She, as he'd pointed out before and would have pointed out again, was the mother of that baby. That baby was a girl, ergo, it would be all her responsibility.

But weighing up how good it would make him look in her eyes – how much she'd feel obliged to repay him, even without thinking about it, and how much he needed her to get better and want to be better for him, if they were going to have a boy, it all overbalanced rather quickly.

He'd managed to grin and bear it through the hospital corridors, so he could do it when it was just him and C.C.. How hard could it be, if women did it every day while men went out and did the hard part?

So, he held out his arms to take the baby back. He was mildly surprised by how small she was – he hadn't noticed it before, when he'd first met her. And yet, despite her size, she had a strong pair of lungs that announced to the world she was there and demanding attention. Chandler smirked at the thought – well, maybe the girl wasn't so different from him, after all. He also demanded for people to give or do anything he wanted at the exact moment he wanted it and wasn't willing to wait.

She might not have been destined for greatness, but she was a Graves, through and through.

"I hope she doesn't make it a habit of screaming, in the future," he commented, bouncing the little girl in his arms. "It wouldn't be becoming on a young lady."

C.C. offered him an apologetic smile – almost as if her daughter's cries were her fault – and reached out for the baby, "She's just hungry. Once I've fed her she'll be a happy and quiet baby again."

"How do you know?" Chandler asked her as he handed the baby over to her once again.

"Well, I guess every parent hopes their child will be quie––"

"Not that!" Chandler interrupted her, brow furrowing slightly. "I mean how do you know she's hungry?"

C.C. was silent for a moment as she thought it over. She took the opportunity to settle the little girl on her chest and gently guided her little mouth to her waiting nipple. The babe took to it like a duck to water, and she was soon suckling away, her cried fading into oblivion as she continued to feed.

Chandler couldn't help being surprised by what had just happened – only moments ago, shutting the baby up had seemed like an impossible task, and yet his wife had managed to do just that in just a few seconds! How on Earth did she know what the girl needed?

"I just do," she eventually said, shrugging. "It's…it's hard to explain. I guess that after carrying her around inside me for so long we probably know more about one another than we think."

Those words actually gave Chandler his second brilliant idea of the day. He was already considering branching out into bragging about his family and parenting ability to his colleagues, but this had practically confirmed it. Especially seeing as it would probably give him another leg up, when it came to favours he wanted her to do.

It was obvious how much C.C.'s mothering instinct had kicked in, so how good of a husband would he appear if he let her name the kid? It wasn't like he'd thought up any names for girls, anyway. To tell the truth, he hadn't had to think of a boy's first name, either. It was only right that his firstborn son should be named after him, with middle names representing other great men who'd influence his life.

As it stood, his favourite combination was "Chandler Ulysses McKinley Graves", but there were many combinations he could choose from.

Ah, well. It was likely they'd have more than one boy. He could simply go down the list until he'd used them all up! But for now, he had to dangle that little offering he had in front of his wife.

"Hey, why don't you name her?" he presented it as if he'd only just thought up the idea. "Go on – I'm sure you can think of something pretty."

C.C. smiled down at their girl. There was one name she'd always had in mind, if she ever had a daughter – one that was just as beautiful as her little girl was, there in her arms. She'd wondered if she'd ever get to use it. She didn't think that Chandler would give her the opportunity, and seeing as the child would carry his last name, she'd accepted it and stepped back.

It felt good to be able to bring it out, and actually say it.

"Aurora."

Chandler raised an eyebrow slightly. Aurora? The kid was gonna have to be stunning to pull that one off...!

Not that it mattered. He was sure she could make it work, as long as she looked like her mother. And it got a problem out of the way for him, giving the task to C.C. instead.

So, he smiled brightly, "Aurora Graves, it is."

C.C. didn't reply – she was obviously too engrossed in watching their new daughter feed. Chandler didn't exactly mind. Her dealing with the kid meant he didn't have to. It would get her used to how it would all be, once she was better.

He would've skipped out and hailed the nearest cab right then and there (now he knew his wife was alright and that they'd have to try again when she could stand the kind of fucking he liked), had it not been for the doctor bringing him the birth certificate to sign.

He could only frown as he did, burning his disappointment into the little "F" in the box marked "Sex". But once it was done, it was done. There wasn't any more reason for him to stay after that – it wasn't like he could stay in the hospital, with C.C., the baby and...well, all those sick people...

He could go home to a warm, last-minute dinner, a comfortable bed and the familiarity of the home he had worked so hard to buy.

It even sounded better than the alternative.

So, the moment that piece of paper officially giving him a daughter instead of a son was handed back, he kissed his wife on the cheek, brushed a hand over the blanket that held the kid, and started to turn for the door.

"I'll be back tomorrow, hon – you get some rest, okay?"

He hadn't even looked away fully when he saw his wife's face fall.

"Chandler, you're leaving...?"

Everything in Chandler ground to a halt, wanting to shout out in frustration at the fact that he'd been steps from freedom until C.C. had suddenly decided she had a say over him staying. But he held his tongue. The disappointment and sadness in her tone grated against his already-shredded nerves, too, but he gritted his back teeth, took in a breath and offered her another smile.

"Well, I kind of have to – I haven't eaten yet!" he tried to sound like he was chuckling. "And as much as I'd like to stay, I can't really sleep in a chair all night, can I?"

C.C. paused, considering. It was obvious she was upset still, but Chandler could tell she was relenting. She knew he was right.

"Well, no...I guess not..."

Chandler genuinely smiled for a brief second – he liked it when she saw things his way. He jogged back a few steps to stroke her cheek briefly with his fingers.

"Don't worry about it, doll – I'll be back tomorrow. And while I'm here, I'll see about getting you transferred to a better hospital. A nicer one, with...fancier equipment. Better care."

And no snooping nurses that didn't know how to mind their own business, either. Not that he'd say that out loud.

He kissed his wife goodbye again (he was close enough, so why not? Besides, the little bitch was still watching), before – once more – taking his leave. But before he could step a single foot outside the door, he heard his wife call him back again.

"Chandler, wait...!"

He felt himself on the brink of getting irritated at having been so close to freedom yet again, but took in and held another breath. That would calm him, and keep him there – he was still intent on playing his part of "the good husband". Especially while that stupid nurse was still hanging around.

"Yeah, hon?" he asked, smile back on his face.

C.C. looked hopeful, "C-Could you bring me some things from home? Just for while I'm staying here – a nightdress or two, a few magazines and books, and my knitting?"

Well...that wouldn't actually be too difficult to make happen. He could actually get Brightmore to bring those over right away – the guy could stand to lose the rest of one night off, after all. It wasn't any skin off Chandler's nose; he'd even be generous and hold the cab for him so he wouldn't have to find another.

So, he nodded again, "Nightdress, magazines, books, knitting. Okay. I'm on it."

Blowing her a kiss, he turned on his heel and left the room at last.

He'd be out of there in no time, and any more errands that night could go to the butler.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter VI**

Having the night off was the closest thing to a blessing Niles could get. Usually, he would rejoice at having some time for himself – he more than deserved it, after having slaved away for days on end – but tonight the butler simply couldn't bring himself to enjoy the few hours of freedom he'd been granted. How could he, when his mind was on his mistress and what could be happening to her at that moment?

He'd been pacing the length of his room for the past hours, growing more and more worried with every minute that went past without Mr and Mrs Graves coming back home. It had been hours already! Shouldn't they be back already? He knew he had no say over what they did or how long they took, but he had more than enough reasons to worry. Mr Graves was volatile – who knew when he could blow up at his wife? And if he did, who was to say he wouldn't hurt her? He had plenty of opportunity to do what he wanted, if he decided to drive them down some old country road, with no street lighting, homes or stores, or the possibility of rescue...

There were too many trains of thought that the butler could take from there, and not one of them was worth boarding and thinking about. They were all maddening, in their own ways – besides, Mr Graves had been in high spirits that night. Jovial, even. He hadn't seemed like he was going to blow up that night – not if everything was going how he'd planned it. And he'd seemed to have planned everything very well indeed.

Perhaps she would be safe, this time?

He wanted to believe that, more than anything. But the later it got with no sign of them, the closer he'd started to pace to the front door. He'd had to leave his room after a while; it hadn't seemed enough space and he had needed to keep himself a bit more occupied.

Something was wrong. He was certain of it. Mrs Graves was hurt somehow, and he hadn't been able to stop it from happening!

And it was all because of that––

Knock, knock, knock.

The blows on the door were rapid, and they had the butler jumping out of his skin before he managed to gather himself enough to rush to answer it.

Perhaps it was them? Maybe dinner had simply run late? What if the car had broken down, or gotten a flat tyre? There had to be some sort of reason as to why...

He grasped at the door handle and pulled...only to find Mr Graves stood there, alone.

Oh, dear God...where was Mrs Graves?

What had he done with her?! He...he wouldn't have left her out there, would he? She was carrying his child – he wouldn't have gotten angry and forced her out of the car and left her to walk home by herself?! Anything could happen to her out there, in her condition and vulnerable state!

Unless...unless he'd already...

No, that didn't bear thinking about! It was utterly ridiculous to assume that his monster of a master would have gone so far, when she was pregnant with his child! Even in the short time he'd worked for them, it was obvious Mr Graves was looking forward to having a son more than anything, and he'd never do anything to jeopardise that.

He brushed away the thought his mind tried to bring up about what if it had been an accident, and kept as calm and collected as he could to greet Mr Graves.

"Good evening, sir," he said, eyes looking around as though he should spot her. Oddly enough, he couldn't even see the car. "Where...where is Mrs Graves...?"

His master made a scoffing noise, hinting at some sort of irritation, "Hospital. We...got into a bit of an accident on the way to dinner; a car totalled mine, and broke both Mrs Graves' legs while the bastard of a driver was at it!"

Niles thought he could've collapsed upon hearing that. He was relieved that nothing like he'd imagined had happened to his mistress, of course, but a car accident?! She must have been in such pain, and would the baby be alright?! What would it have done to the little one she was carrying?!

Mr Graves must have seen concern start to enter his features, because he continued.

"There's more to it than just that, though," he said, sounding...still irritated? He didn't sound concerned or scared at all – not for his wife or child. "The accident made my wife go into labour early, so they took her to get a C-section. They're both fine now, but the kid...it's a girl."

The last sentence sounded like he was so disgusted, he could've spat on the floor.

Niles didn't understand how he could be so horrible about it! He knew the man had wanted a son, but was he really so caught up in that that he wasn't happy that his wife and child had survived both a car crash and a long, invasive medical procedure?!

Wasn't he relieved that they were both safe, even if it would take time to for his wife to mend? Wasn't he happy to be a father? Niles knew he would've been – he wasn't going to get the chance to be one. That was a blessing that only other, wealthier and less busy men got to have.

And it was nothing short of a miracle that it had even happened in this case, after so much! That little girl was going to get nothing but the best from her parents' butler, that was for certain!

Just like her mother did, and still would. Mrs Graves was obviously going to be bed bound when she got home, until she had recovered, so he took it upon himself in that very moment to make sure he waited on her hand and foot, never leaving her side unless absolutely necessary.

He'd see her get better, no matter what it took.

Of course, he couldn't say as much to the unfeeling monster that was his employer. He couldn't even make half of his feelings on the subject known!

He had to keep his statement neutral, but leaning towards caring. Just not so much that Mr Graves thought he was making some sort of protest about his words.

He didn't want to end up locked out of the house...

"Thank goodness they are both alright, sir," he said, trying not to let his voice shake. "Will you be returning to see them, now that you have informed someone at home?"

Mr Graves looked at the butler somehow both like he'd just said the most absurd thing on the planet, and like he had reminded him of something he needed to say.

"No, I won't be going back tonight."

He motioned for Niles to stand aside, so he could come in. If it had been up to the butler, he would've refused, slammed the door in the man's face and made sure he was never allowed inside again.

But he couldn't do that. As much as it aggravated something in his very being, he had to move away from the door and let his master enter.

"Thank you. Now, I'm going to get something to eat from the kitchen, and then I've got a date with a comfortable and satisfyingly warm bed. But Mrs Graves does want some things of hers, up at the hospital; her knitting, some magazines, nightwear, that kind of thing," he waved a hand vaguely in the direction he'd just come from. "There's a cab waiting at the end of the driveway, so be a good – chap, I think you Brits say – and take my wife a bag. You can go back to whatever it was you were doing after that."

Then, without bidding so much as a half-hearted goodnight, he disappeared further into the house, no doubt in search of something simple and straightforward to eat.

Niles couldn't have felt sicker if he'd tried. Was he really not going back to the hospital, to be with his wife – the woman he supposedly loved, and the mother of his newborn child?! Was he really going to delegate the duties – the _honours_ – bestowed upon a husband and new father to the family butler?! Did he not care at all?!

How could he not care? If it had been Niles in that position, his wife would've been waited on hand and foot by him! He would have only ever left her side if what she'd asked for wasn't in the same place!

But that wasn't his life – it never would be.

Not that that would ever stop him from doing his duty, and doing right by Mrs Graves and her new baby!

A little girl...he could only hope she looked like her mother. It would have been a crime and a waste for any new, innocent being to resemble Mr Graves in any way, shape or form!

But he would be good to her, no matter what. Like an uncle, almost – if not in name, then in feeling. He'd play with her, and teach her things, and be someone she could go to, if she needed a friendly ear.

Knowing who her father was, she was going to need as many of those people in her life as she could get. The best way to start, of course, was by bringing her and her probably exhausted mother everything they needed. It didn't take him long to pack Mrs Graves' hospital bag, complete with entertainment, clean clothes and nightwear for both mother and daughter, toiletries and some baked goodies he got from the kitchen.

Mr Graves also gave him some cash, both to pay for the cab and should his wife need anything else. He found the cab just where Mr Graves had said, but the driver wasn't very happy about having been kept waiting for so long, and promptly informed him he'd be charged for all the time they'd made him waste. Niles didn't argue – he had been given more than enough money to pay for this (if not several) taxi rides, which meant he'd be completing the invaluable task that had been bestowed upon him.

Mrs Graves and the new Miss Graves needed care, and he'd be more than happy (honoured, really) to provide.

So, with a mumbled apology and after having barely looked at the cabbie, Niles hopped in the taxi and was soon on his way to the hospital. The drive felt just about the same as an eternity, so much so that by the time they pulled up at the hospital doors Niles felt like a poor devil who'd had to roam a scorching desert for forty days and forty nights. He tossed a few notes the driver's way as he practically kicked the door open, not caring about his expletives or his anger about Niles' handling of the car's door.

He was barely listening to the driver, anyway. All he could hear was his duty, calling to him through the doors of that hospital.

The light on the other side looked warm, and soft – so safe, compared to so many places in the world...

So many places that people had to go back to, once they'd left their wards and rooms. It added weight to his heart to even think that his mistress and her little girl would be two of those people heading back to somewhere that should have felt ten times more welcoming than the place they were currently in, but wouldn't even compare in terms of the amount of rest they'd get! Decent rest, anyway – the kind where no one was sleeping with one eye open, to check for that moving shadow in the dark, that fist that wasn't expected, that...hand...that would do whatever it wanted and expect the recipient to simply shut up and let it happen.

If he hadn't already opened the door, he might've kicked it again, on thinking that. But he consoled himself by pretending that the great bag he was carrying with him was, in actual fact, Mr Graves, whom he was dragging along behind him, face-first into the floor.

It made sharply dragging the bag off the backseat of the cab and out onto the sidewalk all the sweeter. Not that he let it hit the cement too hard – he didn't want any of Mrs Graves' things to be damaged!

He was establishing himself as a good butler. He didn't want that ruined by anything, especially not a bag full of belongings!

Slamming the cab door behind him without even looking, Niles took the bag and rushed inside, finding the first receptionist he could who wasn't on the one or dealing with a patient.

"Excuse me, I am hoping you can help. I am looking for the room of one Mrs C.C. Graves...?"

"Room 505," replied the young girl after having checked her records. "Do you need me to explain to you how to get there, sir?"

Niles shook his head no.

"I think I can manage, thank you," he said and took off to the nearest elevator, relying on the hospital's signs to navigate his way to Mrs Graves' room.

It didn't take him long to find it, but when he eventually did, he stopped in his tracks just outside the door and knocked twice. A few silent seconds went past during which Niles feared that perhaps Mrs Graves was asleep, meaning he'd have to wait outside until she'd woken up. He wasn't going to just burst in, without having been given permission to intrude!

But eventually, either as though his mistress had been roused from her sleep by his knocking, or because she had remembered where she was after a moment of panic and knew she'd be safe enough to let someone in, Niles heard a voice call out.

"Come in...!"

He did as her voice invited (it wasn't a command – it was too gentle for that), and opened the door to quietly enter the room. For all he knew, the baby could be there, asleep by her mother, instead of in the nursery with the other babies from the maternity ward. He didn't want to risk waking her up!

He'd see to it as best he could that her first night on Earth would pass without incident, and that she'd sleep soundly, when not needing to be fed.

She wouldn't get so much opportunity, the older she got, to have a decent night's rest under her father's roof.

The thought nearly made him frown, but seeing his mistress in her hospital bed, cuts all over her body, her legs in casts and clearly exhausted from her labour and the other events of the day, made him pin the corners of his mouth back up.

Knowing how badly her legs were broken made him cringe inside. It also tore at more than one of his heartstrings, knowing how closely it could've been avoided...

If only she hadn't fallen for that bastard's little sweetening and seduction trick...if she'd realised the dinner and the gifts were merely a ploy...

But he wasn't going to do or say anything which suggested he was nearly overwhelmed by worry, either because of her injuries, or about what would happen once she'd left the hospital.

The latter certainly wouldn't be right or fair, and it would probably only make her panic if she was forced to think of it then.

He was going to be the epitome of a loyal butler. Relieved to see that she was alive and happy that she would pull through, obviously, but never once mentioning her current state or what was going on back at the house.

Not unless she asked, anyway.

He held up the bag, to show her his reason for coming.

"I have brought the items you requested, ma'am."

He was happy when a small, tired smile crossed his mistress' face.

"Oh, thank you so much, Mr Brightmore," she said, pressing the button on the side of her bed to raise the top half. "Would you be so kind as to store the nightgowns in the little wardrobe over there and hand me my knitting?"

"Right away, ma'am!" he said, jumping into action, all the while trying to be as quiet as possible, given that Mrs Graves' baby was sleeping in a small bassinet next to Mrs Graves' bed.

He couldn't see her very well – she was tucked up in a number of fluffy, white blankets and they were covering her probably cherubic little face. But what he could see, however, was the small tuft of golden blonde hair sticking from her little head.

It was his mistress' hair colour…

Niles would have never admitted it out loud, but he was happy that she was taking after Mrs Graves rather than Mr Graves, already.

"Would you like to see her?"

He started some at the sound of Mrs Graves' voice, turning to look at her. He hadn't realised that every action he'd taken around the little crib so far had slowed down, all with the intent of helping him take a better, longer look at what he could see of the new addition to the family.

It had actually led to him doing something akin to staring, which horrified him the moment the realisation kicked in. Just how long had he been there, looking down at the new young lady of the house...?! He'd been supposed to carry out a task, and yet he'd gotten so caught up, it was making him panic to think he might have been neglecting the duties he'd been asked to carry out while he was there!

And yet...and yet Mrs Graves most definitely wasn't angry with him for it...she was smiling at him rather softly...

"I beg your pardon, ma'am?" he asked, careful not to trip over his own words, or drop the things he was still holding.

He couldn't help the confusion starting to mix in with his worry. She'd asked him to do something; why wasn't she unhappy that he'd stopped to look at her daughter? She had to have known that it was not the butler's place to come forward and look at every child that was born into the household!

He'd know her eventually, but after some time. It wasn't as though he had been with the family for years – he had yet to develop the rapport with her parents that would make him almost like an uncle to their children.

If he ever did. He suspected Mr Graves might not like such a thing – someone else getting close to the family he kept tight in his clutches.

"I asked if you'd like to see her," Mrs Graves repeated. "You can't exactly get a good look from there, so if you finish up doing what you're doing, I'll help you to see her a little better."

Niles felt his feet do an odd kind of shuffle on the floor, but he couldn't say why it happened or what his body was hoping to achieve. He didn't know how to feel – it was completely against what he'd been taught was the norm of a household, but at the same time, he knew he could never refuse such a kind offer from his mistress (he knew he'd never get one like it from his master).

He...he also felt rather honoured, at the same time, if he was honest. He didn't think he'd done anything to warrant being allowed something above his station, and yet he was being given the opportunity.

It wasn't one he was going to miss, either. He wasn't going to insist on his place when Mrs Graves had had enough of an ordeal to last a lifetime, and was giving him something that many others would not. A lot of people in her position would never think of him as another living, breathing human being – he might never have been a butler before, but he'd seen and heard a lot about the way servants were often treated. Some mistresses would have snapped at him to stop his gawking and get on with the job he'd been told to do.

But here, with Mrs Graves in charge, he was offered the chance to admire how beautiful her baby would be. He already knew the little one had to be gorgeous; the blanket was just obscuring the view.

So, while trying not to show how overly emotional even being considered made him, Niles nodded.

"Thank you, Mrs Graves. It...it would be a pleasure. I will bring you your knitting first, if you still require it...?"

"Oh, yes, please," she replied, extending her arms to receive her knitting basket (where she kept a neat collection of yarn of every colour imaginable) and needles. "Then you can leave the books and magazines on my bedside table."

Niles nodded and promptly complied with his mistress' orders. He was fastidious about getting everything just right – making sure that the books and magazines were at arm's reach and clearing a spot on her bedside table so that she could set her knitting down once she was done with it. He was rather pleased with himself when he was done; it was something minor, but if it helped her comfort, then he considered it worth it.

But, once he was done, the feeling of inadequacy that had gripped him before came back full force, almost like a waterfall. Or maybe a thunderstorm. What was he supposed to do now? Mrs Graves was already busy with her knitting, and he wasn't sure he should disturb her when she clearly was having a modicum of fun. Walking over to the cot didn't feel appropriate – it would be too blunt, and he absolutely didn't want to be blunt with her.

Never with her…

"What are you waiting for?" Mrs Graves' voice suddenly rang across the room and pierced through his gloomy thoughts, straight into his brain, "Go meet Aurora. You can pick her up if you want, too."

That seemed more along the lines of what he'd expected from a mistress, even if the order was still far kinder than many others would be.

But even as he nodded again and snapped to it, his walk to the cot still grew tentative. Pick the little girl up? He had to suppose it would be easier and more comfortable that way - he didn't see any other reason Mrs Graves would be letting him, a new butler who had not yet earned his full trust or respect, the privilege of holding her daughter.

The walk was short, even if he took his time (not too long, though, just in case Mrs Graves asked what was wrong again - he didn't want to have to explain himself).

He found himself reaching down into the cot before he even knew it, hands ready and strong to support the baby beneath. He'd been taught how to hold them by mothers on his street, when he was a child, and it seemed he still remembered how to pick up such tiny bundles...

Body in crook of arm. Support head, because they can't do it themselves. Gently peel back the blanket, like the petals of a flower, so their face can be seen and they can breathe...

And as soon as he did that and gazed upon her cherubic little features, Niles was suddenly very aware of the weight he had in his arms.

But he balanced it. Took it in stride, as his heart warmed like the sun and he began to smile.

Miss Aurora Graves was, indeed, the spitting image of her mother. Or, at least she would be. For now, the strong jawline was hidden behind chubby, rosy cheeks, the sapphire eyes were barely open in half-sleep, and the hair he had seen before was still sort of wispy, waiting to grow long and thick.

She was beautiful. Perfect, in every sense of the word - from the tiny nose and mouth, to the softness of her still-wrinkled, fresh born skin. But so small - he wondered if he had ever seen a baby so small! He'd only ever held several month old babies; were they all so little when they were born? Did they all start off life this way?

Was it normal, to want to protect one so much when you held it? To love it, as though it were your own?

Again, Niles didn't know. He could only speculate that maybe he was simply doing his job correctly. Especially when it came to the daughter of such a volatile father.

But that would be an issue for the future. Not for right now, when everything was just right, and both mother and baby were safe.

But where were his manners? He was still their butler, after all, and he was meeting Miss Graves for the first time. He had yet to formally introduce himself!

"How do you do, Miss Aurora?" he asked quietly, his smile and overall warmth even making speaking difficult. "I am Niles Brightmore, your family's butler. It will be an honour and a privilege to serve..."

C.C. tried to smile a little more at his words. She was going to take Aurora straight to the nursery when they got home. She wanted to get her settled in right away - to a new place, and the start of her life...

A life that had been set up for her, as Niles had said, long before she'd even gotten there. A life that she'd been excited that her baby would get - the best of everything, and anything she ever wanted.

She'd imagined that practically with stars in her eyes, when she had been pregnant. And she was going to make sure that was what Aurora got. Nothing was too good for her little girl, in her mind.

Even if, in her head and the pit of her stomach, she knew that certain parts of the nursery would have to be changed. Her husband had been so sure it would be a boy, she'd added a few features that would have welcomed a son. Books about outdoor adventures in the woods, blue decorations, that kind of thing. He had been disappointed with Aurora being a girl - it was probably best that the changeover was done quickly. So he didn't have to dwell on the thoughts of what she hadn't been able to give him. This time around, anyway. She already knew she'd try harder next time, to give him exactly the family he wanted.

He would have to warm up eventually to their daughter, though, wouldn't he? The question was uneasy but present, nonetheless. He just had to have been overwhelmed. By the accident. By the hospital trip. By his whole plan for the evening going to waste. He wasn't to be blamed for his feelings in the heat of the moment. Her having the baby that day had probably put him under incredible stress - she didn't know how she'd ever start to apologise for that.

Maybe it would all get easier, when she was able to start trying for another baby again? She had to have a boy next time around, didn't she? The odds couldn't be against her so much, that she'd fail her husband again...

It was already tearing her apart enough in her mind and her heart that she had been such a bad wife to him already.

The thought - as true as it was - made her knitting slip and she dropped a stitch. That, in turn, made what was left of her smile drop away as though it had never existed.

The knitting quickly followed into her lap, just as a few tears started to prick the corners of her eyes.

This was all her fault. And until she could get out there and have the son her husband knew would complete their family, there was nothing she could do about it.

"Madam? Are you alright?"

The butler's voice made her start, snapping her head in his direction and trying hard to wipe her eyes. Not that it had any use – he'd obviously already seen, otherwise he wouldn't have asked.

Yet another thing she would have realised, if she wasn't so stupid, and useless...the men at Chandler's work probably felt sorry for him, having such an awful wife...!

The words in her head only caused her heart to crack even further, which set the tears in motion and soon her moist eyes welled up, spilling over as she quietly started to sob.

Of course, her inner turmoil was lost on Niles. Seeing her dissolve into tears just moments after she had (at last) seemed alright sounded off sirens in his head that were louder than air raid warnings!

What had happened?! Had the painkillers the doctors had given her worn off? Was it simply the stress of everything that had happened that day overwhelming her? He didn't know! How was he supposed to?!

He had to help. That was the only thing that registered clearly in his mind - his mistress was in distress, of some kind, and he was the only one around who could do anything!

But he had to find out what was going on first, and that meant putting the adorable little girl in his arms back into her crib, so that he could rush straight to her mother's side.

He was their butler. He had to look after them all as though they were his own family. Even if that would be begrudging care, in one case.

Her tears only seemed to get worse as he reached her bed.

"Mrs Graves...! Please," his tone was gently pleading, but he held back from reaching out to touch her on the shoulder the moment he was close enough. No matter how much he wanted her to know he was there. "If I am to help in any way, I have to know what–"

"Nothing can be done!"

Her crying out, interrupting his words, made him jump, but only very slightly. He was too busy for that; she needed him and he needed to know what was going on. How could there be nothing that needed to be done - nothing that was upsetting her - if she was crying?!

"Begging your pardon, Madam, but what do you mean, there is nothing to be done?" he asked, starting to crouch slightly by the bed. He could see more of her beautiful, tear-stained face from there. "I am sure that if you tell me, I will be able to–"

"You can't!" she got out like it was hurting her even to think it. "Nobody can...! It's all my fault, and I can't even make it better...!"

Perplexed, the butler blinked, "What is your fault, Mrs Graves?"

She gestures towards the baby's crib, eyes not even on it, like she was hurt and ashamed of being upset.

"My husband didn't want a girl for a firstborn! And yet I gave him one! How am I supposed to make that up to him when I can't have another baby for a while?! I'm his wife, I'm supposed to give him what he asks for, no matter what! He already went through enough today because of me, and now I've totally failed him as a wife already! How am I supposed to..."

She may have said more, but Niles couldn't really hear it. Both because her sobs were being muffled by her hands as her face fell into her palms, and because her words were being made incoherent by her own crying and very obvious fear.

But he had heard enough, when he'd heard her say what Mr Graves thought of having a firstborn daughter.

So that was why the monster was so nonchalant about everything that had happened! He hadn't gotten his way when it came to the sex of his own child, so he'd just decided to disregard the situation entirely!

The butler felt anger rising inside him – the same sort of anger that had driven him across more battlefields than he had ever hoped to see in his lifetime. But now, it wasn't directed against an evil regime hellbent on taking the world for themselves and destroying everything else in their path – it was just one evil man.

But he had to hold it down, like he sometimes did these days when he remembered something that he shouldn't from the cold forests and dead, bombed-out towns of France.

It wasn't fair on Mrs Graves to make her have to see. Not when she was so upset. So vulnerable.

She already saw enough anger. That much was clear.

She needed calm. Calm and support from one person in her life.

Actually, that gave him an idea! Mr Graves may not have been happy about having had a girl, but he was certain Mrs Graves family would be delighted to hear of Miss Graves' arrival! Mrs Graves needed her parents or siblings – in short, people who would be happy and supportive. Maybe he could try and suggest calling them; maybe that would cheer her up.

But first, he reminded himself, he had to let her know that there was nothing to be sorry about. A healthy child is nothing short of a miracle, especially after one of the bloodiest wars humankind had seen. He was certain sons would follow (although the thought of Mrs Graves pregnant by that bastard again made him slightly nauseous and more than a little angry), but a daughter was still a blessing. Especially when she already looked so much like her…

"Madam, please, listen to me," he said, this time risking to place a soothing hand on her shoulder (God, let her not take umbrage at his actions…!). "You know why I came to America?"

Mrs Graves, who appeared to be listening, shook her head no, sobbing still.

"Because, after fighting in the war, the only thing I found was left in Europe, was desolation," he said quietly. "America offered hope, and so I came."

He was about to go on, when he saw that something had changed the minute he'd finished speaking. Mrs Graves - cautiously at first - lifted her eyes to meet his. She was still sobbing and her eyes were full of tears, but she managed to wipe enough of them away to look at him clearly. Sapphire oceans, rocked by tidal waves that would hopefully soon calm again.

"You...you fought in the war?" she asked with a sniff, voice still trembling as she tried to bring it under control.

Niles was a little bit taken aback by her focus and apparent curiosity on that subject. He hadn't spoken about his time as a soldier very much when he had lived in Britain, and even less when he had moved to the States.

It was a part of life he had tried ever since living it to move on from. He knew there was a better way than the violence he had seen, and he tried his best to live it every day. He valued peace and calm so much, after chaos and a rage that wasn't even all his. It was carried, from those around him and the situation they had all been thrown into.

And, as she had asked, he now knew the perfect way to bring her back to the point he had been about to make.

"Yes, I did," he conceded. "So I know that–"

"Thank you," Mrs Graves said, interrupting him yet again. Only this time she seemed...more certain? Less afraid? She'd straightened up to look at him properly. "For your service. To both your country, and mine."

In the split second it took him to understand, Niles' mind immediately rejected the very idea of anyone having to be grateful to him for anything. He'd seen men a thousand times better – braver, kinder, more worthy of praise - than he was, and their bodies were now buried in cemeteries all over Europe.

If they had been found at all. Some had to have been buried beneath tombstones that didn't give names, but instead proclaimed that they were known to God.

They were worthy of respect and admiration, not him.

But in the same split second that he'd thought, the words took the air out of his lungs, setting him up on the back foot as he tried to (gently) protest.

"I...I did what anybody else would have done in my position; it's hardly worth even mentioni–"

"It is worth mentioning," Mrs Graves insisted, shutting him up before he could dismiss it. "You fought for freedom. You are a hero, whether people acknowledge it or not."

There was a moment of silence, during which Niles felt like the room had grown substantially hotter in a very short space of time. Particularly around his cheeks.

No one had ever called him a hero before. Brave, yes. A damn fine chap, once or twice. But never a hero. He hadn't gone into the war looking for glory, or to prove himself a man. He had gone to stop bad from taking over the good in the world.

He didn't think that made him a hero. Just a man trying to help do what was right, whatever that took.

He ducked away, hoping he wasn't so pink that she'd comment on it.

It was the last thing he needed, when he was so close to finishing what he had to say.

"Thank you, Mrs Graves. I...I appreciate it, very much," that was when he felt composed enough to continue. "But that is how I know you have nothing to be sorry for. I have seen horror - men and boys taken before their time, indiscriminately. Every child born after that is a miracle, no matter who they are or how they have come to be. You will have sons one day, yes, but it does not mean that you have failed anybody by having a girl now. She is a blessing, and a cause for celebration, and she will grow to do amazing, beautiful things. I am sure her father loves her, truly, just as I am sure that the future can only be brighter from here."

He knew he was lying through his teeth at that last part, but it was what she needed to hear.

It certainly seemed to cheer her up a little, because she managed a small smile through her slowing tears. She really did have a gorgeous smile…

"You are very kind, Mr Brightmore," she said, "And you are probably right – sons will follow, and Aurora is certainly loved by us all. Now, if you don't mind, I…I'd like to sleep for a little while."

Niles had to hold back from saying that she bloody deserved all the rest she could get. It wouldn't have been proper. Instead, he bowed to her and, after helping tuck her in, he left her to rest, all the while nursing a bittersweet feeling in his heart.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter VII**

It was all Chandler could've done to get out of the house. He wasn't looking forward to arriving at his destination, either, but at least while Brightmore was driving, he could just sit back and try to compile his thoughts into some kind of order.

He was, at long last, going to pick C.C. and the kid up from the hospital. And, because he insisted on travelling in comfort and style while he was on the hunt for a new car, he'd told the butler to take the limo. It was going to be the grandest entrance and pick-up since he'd last been to one of the bars downtown. He'd left with at least three women that night – each one better at what he liked than the next.

Maybe he'd tell C.C. how they did it, so he wouldn't have to waste money on gas to go look for those girls again. And, that way, he'd be able to have all the comforts of a king in his own home, too.

But, he supposed with annoyance, it all had to wait. And he wasn't accustomed to waiting for anybody.

It had been the worst week of his entire life so far, while his wife had been stuck in there. He'd been alone in the house (the help didn't count, and the maid and the cook wouldn't put out, anyway), the nursery that was supposed to be for his son was now going to have some female in it, and to top it all off, his parents had arrived that morning to come see the baby that he'd made the mistake of telling them had been born.

He hadn't been able to bring himself to mention that they weren't getting the Chandler Ulysses McKinley Graves they'd been hoping for. It was...Au...Audrey? Aurelia?

Whatever. It was some name that C.C. had picked. He supposed he'd learn it when the kid could actually respond, not just sit or lie there like a dumb animal.

His situation was far more important right then. How was he supposed to look his at father in the eye and tell him his first child had been girl? It was going to be an embarrassment, handing the kid over and letting them see that, as it stood, their hopes and dreams of a legacy were going to be passed on to somebody who wouldn't even have their surname by the time she'd turned twenty! Eighteen, if Chandler could help it!

And that wasn't even getting started on C.C.. Her doctors had said that her "recovery would be long" and that she'd "need plenty of rest and care if she was going to get better quickly".

That had been the second and last time Chandler had visited while C.C. and the kid were being made to stay in the hospital. The stupid quacks hadn't given him any good advice about what he could do to still get his marital kicks, so he hadn't really seen a point in coming after being told so many times that with so much bruising, legs broken in several parts (plus the operation to insert a fucking metal plate into one of them!), broken ribs and a c-section to get over, it wasn't possible for him to try anything.

He'd thought about arguing that she still had a perfectly good mouth, but he probably would've been told that her teeth were loose too, or some bullshit like that.

It would just be his luck if they were, considering the fact that his previously perfect goddess of a wife was now going to have distracting scars down her legs and stomach (how was he supposed to look at her naked with those?). The one where they'd opened her up to put that plate in like she was the monster in some science-fiction flick was huge! Fifteen stitches, nails and obviously it was just typical that the thing was permanent, too. How was he ever gonna be able to look down when she had been "good" and earned a "reward", and put his face anywhere near something so hideous? He only enjoyed those moments before because he knew what was coming next - this was going to make it ten times more difficult! He'd have to close his eyes.

But he couldn't close his eyes all the time, and not to everything - especially not his wife coming home in a fucking wheelchair of all things!

He wasn't going to push it. Brightmore could do that – it was his job to shift weights and carry burdens, after all.

Chandler already knew he'd remove himself from it as much as he could. The doctors might've said that C.C. would walk again with rehab, or whatever they called it, but until he got back the gorgeous, walking woman he'd chosen to be his bride (it made him sick to think he couldn't get her back unscarred, too), it was all going to be radio static to him, apart from when he needed to throw a few bucks the hospital's way.

His friends and colleagues were never going to find out about it, either, beyond maybe knowing that the kid had been born. He'd tell his bosses that first, on the off-chance they had a son or two a few years older, who might want a wife in the future.

But that would be after C.C. got rid of that chair. He couldn't have her looking like a circus attraction if one of the board members invited themselves to dinner. They might think he married her like that on purpose.

And if there was one thing Chandler knew, it was that if he'd wanted to marry a cripple, he would've taken a detour to the nearest asylum and had his fill. Probably before checking himself in for wanting something so disgusting in the first place.

At least her face was unmarked – apart from a few lingering bruises, there was nothing cut, broken or out of place. He was lucky that she hadn't ended up with a plate in her head, or some shit that was just as bad. He'd have probably left her, had she ended up disfigured due to the crash; he was being tolerant enough as it was!

Still, regardless of his annoyance at her and her broken body, his plan for the day was to play the part of the kind husband. If he gave her an inch, she'd have to give him a mile in return for his kindness, and Chandler liked to have the upper hand very much. It would give him the perfect excuse to bail on her if things got too annoying for him. He was already halfway there, from the scarring and the chairs and the whining he knew would be coming at the end of the day. At least he could get out of it, when he'd eventually reached his limit.

After all, he had plenty of sluts scattered and waiting for him to go back to them and reclaim the kicks he wouldn't be getting from his wife for the time being.

They had servants galore – they could deal with her and the kid just fine while he took a nice, long break.

The car pulled up at the hospital just as that thought crossed his mind. It was a new hospital – one C.C. had been transferred to the very next morning after the accident. Given the severity of the crash, his wife had initially been driven to the nearest hospital, which Chandler had soon come to consider subpar.

Naturally, he'd transferred her to the best private clinic money could buy. He'd been hoping they might have a better chance at fixing her without leaving too many permanent marks. He'd been pissed off by their inability to do that (_some_ doctors they were!), but unfortunately this was the best outcome he was going to get.

It was nothing like the actual best – that would have included a male child and an uninjured wife, but things were as they were.

He might've had no say in that matter, but everyone and his brother could be damn sure that he'd have his say next time, whenever that was. He'd get a boy – the son he needed to carry on his good family name – and C.C. would've done her duty.

Just a pity she couldn't pull it off the first time around.

She'd learn. She'd have to, if she knew what was good for her. It had to be obvious by now that any woman worth anything at all gave her husband boys. That was how King Henry VIII had found the love of his life and his perfect wife – she'd given him what he'd asked for!

That was the only part of World History that had ever stuck in Chandler's head. It was the only part that made any sense to him, even now, when he was a grown man.

He liked to think he would've gotten along with Henry. Maybe had a drink, and swapped some stories about the number of whores they'd had just throwing themselves at them.

And, he thought as the limo came to a complete halt with its engine stopped, they might have shared some laughs over how to treat a servant or two.

He watched and waited as Niles got out to undo the door for him, but instead of dismissing him to wait with the vehicle after that, he called out casually over his shoulder as he went up towards the hospital door.

"We're burning daylight, Brightmore – come on; I'll need you to carry the bag. And push my wife's chair."

It still made him cringe and feel all sorts of wrong, to think he had to say that last part...

Still, had he been looking at or even paying a modicum of attention to his butler, Chandler would have noticed the death glare Niles had given him, or picked up on his servant slamming the car door shut a little bit too hard.

But as always, Chandler simply couldn't and wouldn't look past his own nose. He went on his merry way, not even stopping to politely greet the nurses that had been looking after his wife or to wait for his butler, who was trailing behind him, fantasising about having his childhood sling and a decent-sized rock to throw at his self-centred arsehole of a boss.

If he thought he could get away with it, he would have knocked him out cold a long time ago.

Barely five minutes after their arrival at the hospital, both Chandler and Niles were stepping into C.C.'s room. She was already waiting for them in her chair and with little Aurora tucked safely in her arms. She was also dressed to the nines – every detail about her outfit (from jewellery to her make up) were perfect. Absolutely perfect. Like she'd spent hours working on them, instead of getting some well-deserved rest after her ordeal.

Niles could feel his blood boiling – she was trying to make up for what she thought was her failure. She was actually trying to make it up to her cad of a husband! A husband who didn't even attempt to greet his new child and wouldn't even get near C.C. after having greeted her with a short kiss.

"Ready to go, are we?" Chandler said.

"You have no idea," replied Mrs Brightmore, smiling up at her uninterested husband and reaching for his hand. "I missed you."

Niles held his breath and his tongue as he watched how Chandler reacted to the situation.

He was surprised, and perhaps relieved, that the man didn't swat his wife's hand away in annoyance. He didn't pull away, or start berating her for them having to be there in the first place.

But he also didn't return the affection, either. He didn't reach out and take her hand in his, like most husbands would have done. He simply...let his hand be there, making her take it.

He was forcing her to be the one to provide him with affection. The one who needed to reach out, and make sure everything was alright.

The obviousness of it was sickening. And yet, the butler couldn't say a word about it.

"Yeah, me too," Chandler muttered, apparently without much feeling and a more than complete focus on something else. Most likely, leaving as quickly as possible. "Now, let's get out of here. Where's your doctor? Could you check yourself out, or do they need me to do that?"

Before she could even answer, he'd clicked his fingers at Niles to make him come forward.

"Take care of the chair, and the bag. I'm going to find a doctor who'll let us get out of this joint."

Without so much as a word to his wife or even a glance in the direction of his daughter, he turned on his heel and marched back out of the room.

Niles watched as Mrs Graves started to crumble, over that. The attempt to impress her husband and make him happy with the way she had chosen to dress had not worked at all. He hadn't even looked like he'd noticed that she'd gone through a huge amount of effort to look nice, by his standards!

Though the standards were going to be impossible to meet and she'd always fall short, until the time came when she actually did give birth to a son...

Though even then, Chandler would still find something to criticise her for.

It was important that she knew she had been seen. That her efforts were appreciated by somebody, even if not the man the attempts were made at...

He approached the chair and the bag, ready to handle both tasks as only a dedicated butler could or should.

"You look wonderful, if I do say so myself, madam," he said. "As stylish now, as ever. And I am sure your daughter will find in you a role model on dress, when she is old enough..."

He didn't know if he was overstepping the boundary again, but frankly, this time he didn't care. She needed to know that somebody had seen her, and had thought her work praiseworthy.

He knew it wouldn't much make up for the heart-and-soul-crushing rejection she'd just faced from her husband, but he hoped it might safe her confidence from complete despair.

And, even if he couldn't know it, C.C. felt something – a little tiny something, like a spark – of hope or...or warmth, or maybe even happiness, inside her heart. It had very little impact on the heavy, overwhelming sadness that Chandler's obvious displeasure brought. It was like a candle in the world's largest cave, at nighttime.

But it was there, nonetheless, a little golden light in the black.

"Thank you," she said quietly, looking down towards her baby. "I can only hope so..."

She didn't know why the butler was saying the things he was, but she did feel grateful for them. She did want to set a good example for Rory, when she was older – in every aspect, not just presentation.

Chandler will definitely have to have mellowed out by then, won't he? They'd more likely than not have a son by then, so he'd would have secured the family legacy. And they could teach both – all? – their children everything they knew...

For now, though, the knowledge that he was unhappy remained a firm knot in her stomach. She was already trying to plan ways to make it up to him when she got better, though none she could think of in a worried mind trumped having a boy.

That was the only solution, really. To make it all better. Chandler wouldn't accept any substitutes or other methods of placating for long. She knew that from experience already, back when they had been courting and had first been married – whenever he had wanted to do something that she didn't, he would, naturally, be upset with her until she agreed that they would do it.

"It's compromise," he'd always told her. "People who are in love do things they don't want to, for the people they love. So, this is proving that you love me."

She'd only been able to agree quietly. And even then, she'd still had to tread carefully.

But now, in the present day, this new situation was all to be figured out as they went. They had to get home first, and she had to get Rory into her nursery.

Well, of course meeting her grandparents would come first! Chandler had Niles tell her they were coming. Truth to be told, she wasn't exactly happy about it – she was tired, injured and had an infant daughter to look after. Had it been up to her, the visit would have waited a couple of days.

Or weeks…

Not that she'd ever admit it to her husband, but C.C. disliked his parents immensely. She supposed she should be thankful that, unlike her own parents, they actually were there for their son and Aurora, but it was just so difficult...! To start with, Chandler's mother, Constance Graves, was, quite possibly, the most stuck up, condescending, self-serving shrew C.C. had ever had the displeasure of meeting.

There were two things the old hag lived for: gossip and criticising others. She got a special sort of sick pleasure from belittling others, from her own staff (who she didn't exactly consider animals, but were close enough) to supposed "friends" and family. And by family, she meant herself. Constance _just_ _loved_ to criticise C.C. more than anything and anyone else in the entire wretched world.

And she was going to have to be in the same room as her, for as long as Constance and her husband, Howard, wanted to see the baby. That would probably mean several hours' worth of their company – that was, if they didn't decide to stay overnight...

C.C. felt a chill creep up her spine. The criticisms, the snide remarks – she could hear them all, already!

"_This guestroom is rather plain, in comparison to the tasteful decor in the rest of the house. Did C.C. choose the interior for this one...?"_

"_Dinner tonight was rather meagre. Can you not afford a better cook, or was the hiring process...lacking? One might accuse you of shirking your responsibilities as lady of the household, if you cannot even choose the best among a line of servants!"_

"_You are looking somewhat plump these days, C.C. dear. Like a little partridge. Just remember that men like it more if you look less like the dinner, more like the woman who is serving it!"_

That last one had apparently been an in-joke, between Constance and Howard. He himself often made..._comments_, talking about how C.C. should be grateful to have such an example of womanhood to look up to. How he had moulded his wife into the perfect shape (literally as well as figuratively), and that he couldn't be happier, so she should be prepared to do the same for Chandler.

C.C. wanted to be sure that becoming her husband's perfect wife wouldn't make her anything like his mother, before agreeing with what Howard said. And she knew beyond everything that she didn't want to have to deal with their comments about when she'd be losing the baby weight...

She stiffened herself more in her seat, using it as a substitute for squeezing her eyes shut. She didn't want Niles to see what she was doing; she didn't want to have to explain that she was praying to God with every fibre of her being that her in-laws wouldn't be staying over. She could probably get away with saying she was tired and needed to rest, in order to avoid them for a few hours (Chandler would allow that, wouldn't he?), but she couldn't keep out of their way if they chose to make it a several-day trip!

Much like wondering if she would be a good role model to Rory, she could only hope.

"You may hope, ma'am, but I am certain," the butler said, completely unaware of the crisis going on inside his mistress's head. "It is, of course, a matter for the future, though."

He had actually stopped himself just short of speaking words which could sound far too much like parenting advice for comfort. He had almost said that, for the time being, just enjoying raising Miss Aurora was the important part. That all talk of fashion and role models of that sort were a talk for when she was much older.

But he had no say in that. He wasn't the girl's father, and his opinion on how he thought children should be raised had no bearing on his employers. He was merely there to follow their instructions.

Which was why he – somehow, even though it was difficult – managed to pick up the bag and place it over enough of his arm to allow him to take the handles of the wheelchair and start pushing her.

Chandler was already waiting for them at the hospital's entrance, right foot tapping impatiently on the floor. He clearly didn't want to be there, but neither did Mrs Graves, Niles thought to himself. The man was utterly disgusting; a bastard of the worst kind, with his nose too far up his own arse to see his wife needed him.

No, that wasn't right, Mr Graves _could_ see she needed him, he just didn't care.

Not for the first time since entering his current employment, Niles had to school his emotions, which right then were practically screaming at him to sucker-punch that bastard square in the jaw. He couldn't afford to lose his temper for two reasons: a) he desperately needed the money, and b) he'd be damned before leaving his mistress and the newest addition to the household at the mercy of Chandler Graves.

He'd promised himself he'd be there to look after them, and he fully intended to go through with that promise.

"Finally!" barked Chandler, rolling his eyes at his wife. "Took you long enough to get down here…"

He could hear Mrs Graves whimper slightly in her throat – a sign that she was about to speak up, it seemed. She probably wanted to apologise for making him wait, promising that it would never happen again.

Throwing herself on his mercy, so that the balance of power was tipped in his favour even further.

He couldn't let her do it. Not if he could take the blame himself, this time, and spare her from whatever extra "punishments" her husband would have in store for this.

And Niles could almost guarantee that Chandler would have been devising some, in the time they'd taken to come meet him.

"It is my own fault, sir," the butler said, loud enough to cut clearly over whatever Mrs Graves had prepared. "Between the case slowing down movement and my insistence on carefulness when moving Mrs Graves and Miss Graves, we were...later than I had imagined we would be. I can only apologise for my mistake."

He watched as Chandler's eyes turned up, glaring still, to look at him. His employer regarded him in silence for some time, perhaps annoyed at the fact that Niles had just taken away an opportunity to berate his wife.

But, ultimately, he knew there wasn't much he could do, in a public space.

"Just get over here; we're wasting time," he eventually snapped. "The doctor's given me the release forms and we're free to go, so let's move, already!"

He didn't wait for an answer – he simply turned on his heel and stalked back outside, back to their limousine. He didn't care to wait for his wife (who was looking more miserable than Niles had ever seen her) and child (still asleep in her mother's arms). They didn't matter to him. They never had and never would…

They were accessories – mere trinkets Chandler needed to paint the picture of a successful man in his prime. They had no intrinsic value; they were only worthy insofar as they were useful to Chandler's narrative. They were disposable, in his eyes.

That notion was enough to break Niles' heart.

It would have brought tears to his eyes as well, but he pulled himself together for the sake of his mistress and her daughter. He didn't want to get them into trouble, and trouble was certainly lurking around every corner, when Mr Graves was nearby.

When both C.C. and Aurora were settled in the limo and the wheelchair was safely stored in the boot (alongside what the butler had deemed to be an obscene amount of painkillers and other assorted prescription drugs), Niles climbed back on the driver's seat and started the car.

Unsurprisingly, the journey back to the Graves' mansion was a tense one. There were no words spoken between Mr and Mrs Graves – the former was too busy brooding in his seat, and the latter was being crushed under the unbearable weight of her own guilt and despair.

It was almost as though they'd just come from a funeral, rather than a birth.

But he knew there was nothing he could say which would diffuse the tension. His employers were beyond his reach, in that regard, no matter how much he wanted to be able to do something – anything.

All he could do was get them home as quickly and safely as possible.

But he began to wonder how quiet and peaceful their home would be, coming up the driveway towards the mansion. As they pulled up outside (as close as he could make it, so that Mrs Graves wouldn't have to go far), he noticed that all the other servants were lined up by the door. Stood side-by-side nearby, as though they were the owners of the house greeting guests, were two older people. One man, and one woman – well dressed and smiling proudly at the vehicle as it came to a halt.

These were Howard and Constance Graves. Mr Graves' own parents. And they had clearly been busy, in the time that they'd been gone.

They didn't budge an inch once the engine was turned off. Niles had to spring into action, in order to get out and open the door. It was Chandler who went to step out first.

The moment he did was the moment Constance threw open her arms, rushing forward in delight.

"Hello again, my dearest, darling boy!" she cried, coming to take his hand as he stepped out. "Welcome back! As you can see, we prepared for you, as any master of any house should be greeted, after having been away for an important event..."

She gestured airily to the lineup of servants, clearly proud of her handiwork.

"Especially when that even concerns the growth of our family, eh boy?" Chandler's father piped up, coming to slap his son's back. "Speaking of which, where is our newest grandson? Your mother and I are dying to meet the newest addition!"

Chandler, who had managed to pass a small grimace for a sub-par smile for his mother's sake, felt his face collapse into a glower. Here it was – the moment he'd been putting off all morning.

Telling his parents that they were getting a granddaughter instead of a grandson.

Had he been alone with her, he would have taken the opportunity to go off on his stupid bitch of a wife for not having provided him – the Graves family, really – with an heir. Instead, she'd given him a daughter. An, admittedly, budding beauty, but a girl nonetheless. He liked pretty things as much as the next man, but what did he want a girl for? She'd never be as smart, strong or successful as a son.

She was just another pretty thing that would someday adorn the arm of another powerful man.

"I'm afraid you won't be meeting him any time soon, Father," Chandler said tersely. "C.C. had a girl – Aurora Graves."

The name, for him, fell lamely off his tongue. It didn't have any of the grandeur, might or prestige that Chandler Ulysses McKinley Graves did. It carried no weight and didn't honour anybody, let alone him, the father of the goddamned kid in the first place...!

His gesture towards the baby, as C.C. had been helped by Niles to get out of the limo and back into her chair, was just as limp as his explanation that she wasn't a boy. But he still snapped his fingers for the butler to wheel C.C. and the baby closer – his parents might as well be able to inspect her properly.

They'd be able to ask C.C. when she'd be ready to try again for a son, too.

His parents peered at the bundle, not stopping to talk to C.C. at all, and his father immediately frowned, letting out a huff as he cast his eyes over the little one.

"Hmph. Well, at least she is a beauty. She should only grow into that, if nothing else..."

"Indeed," Constance agreed, straightening up after she had had her look at the baby. It was only then that she seemed to acknowledge the presence of C.C.. "You will have much to teach her, you know. It's fortunate that you have me here, in order to guide you in that. Otherwise, who knows just how she would turn out...!"

She spoke as though Aurora would become a ruffian, or turn to a life of crime, if she only had C.C. for a role model and teacher. But the younger woman couldn't say anything about it.

Even if she tried to claim it was nice to see Constance, it would be taken as sarcasm (which, admittedly, it would be) and she would simply be punished for it later.

Not that she had the opportunity to even give it a go – Constance was talking again before C.C. had gotten a word in edgeways.

"As a matter of fact, I believe I should be the one to oversee her instruction, when she is old enough." Constance said, pinching one of Aurora's cherubic cheeks (something which both upset and woke up the baby, who immediately started to fuss).

"Pardon me?" C.C. couldn't help but cry – not that she should have worried, as Constance didn't take it as a complaint, but rather as her being dim witted and not having understood what she'd been told.

"I said it should be me who oversees Aurora's education, as well as that of any other daughters you have," repeated her mother-in-law, starting to smile that disgustingly smug smile of hers. "After all, you will be busy with social functions, running the household and, most importantly, birthing more children for my son. I'm sure you two will start working on the latter soon enough, correct?"

C.C.'s jaw nearly dropped, but she just about managed to pull herself together. Even Chandler's parents knew that she had failed by not giving him a boy, and that was being made more than obvious by his mother right now.

Made to the point of vulgarity, practically! What kind of mother asked her son when he was going to have..._intimate relations_ with his wife? What kind of mother-in-law asked that to her daughter-in-law?! C.C. didn't want them thinking about it!

In her current state, she didn't want to think about it, either, quite frankly...

But she couldn't say that out loud to Constance. She knew no one would be on her side, if she did. Instead, she looked pointedly down at the casts covering her broken legs, as well as her stomach to hint at the operation she'd had, hoping that was enough of a visual indicator for her mother-in-law.

"Well, my doctors do say that I should first focus on recovering from my operation, and on letting the bones in my legs heal, before...worrying about anything like that..."

This didn't seem to put Constance off in the slightest. If anything, it made her try all the more.

"Whatever for? You don't have to move much," she said. "And you'll be in perfect position for it practically all the time!"

"Mother, please don't get involved in this," Chandler grumbled, already annoyed at how many times he'd be losing to all of this. He didn't need another, insistent reminder. "We will try again when that is possible. That is all you need to know."

Constance kept going, however, even though her tone seemed more agreeable when Chandler was the one arguing back, "There is something to be said about waiting for the operation to have happened some time ago – a few of the scars might've faded, and look less unattractive. And your stomach will not look quite so much like you're digesting watermelon!"

She laughed loudly and obnoxiously at her own joke (clearly expecting her husband and son to join in), and C.C. wondered if, maybe, she hadn't survived the car accident and was now actually in Hell. All the signs were there – her demons for in-laws, the pain she was in, even with the medication...even the thought of being punished, for something she had done...

The wondering went away when she looked at Rory. There wasn't a chance anything as good as her could be in a place that terrible. And, deep down, she was sure she wouldn't have been pushed around her eternal damnation by the one servant who seemed to have made it his daily ambition to cheer her up.

She didn't know why that would be the case. She just appreciated it, even when she was sure that she didn't deserve half the things he said...!

Unfortunately, the thought of it made her start to smile, which had a knock-on effect, wherein Constance believed that C.C. was in fact having a good time at her own expense.

"You see?" the older woman gestured, having still been expecting Howard and Chandler to make merry right along with her. "Even C.C. understands the joke! College education was clearly wasted on the both of you...!"

Having been snapped back into the real world, C.C. immediately felt the dig in her stomach. She didn't know what felt worse – her mother-in-law calling her stupid, or the fact that she knew it wouldn't be the last time, for however long it was determined that they would stay.

And speaking of stays, Howard was clearly ready to just get on with it. That included having enough of his wife's talk.

"We understand it, Constance. Cut the kid some slack; she's just gotten out of the hospital, for Pete's sake! You know what that's like, and it's gonna take time for her to lose the pounds. Let's go inside. It's time for you to sit and behave for a little while," he said sternly, making to usher his wife in through the door. "We are about to enter our son's home – that deserves our respect, not loud and irritating noise aimed at his wife."

Constance scoffed and rolled her eyes, but then sighed and turned as her husband was directing her.

"Very well, Howard dear; I will do as you say, even if there really and truly was nothing wrong with having a little fun..."

They then made their way back indoors, not attempting to let their son or wheelchair-bound daughter-in-law go first. They didn't even dismiss the servants that they had gathered outside, probably expecting Chandler to inspect them all and then dismiss them himself.

And the latter was what he did, right away. He wasn't going to waste time looking at any of them – not when his parents would be expecting their company immediately.

Their company, without all the crap that C.C. had just _had_ to have with her at the hospital, combined with all the crap that the hospital had made her take home...

He wasn't going to deal with any of that stuff himself. She was lucky he hadn't simply sent Brightmore and had done with it.

It was going to be the butler's job to get it all out of the car and put away wherever it all belonged, anyway. After one last task that had to be done first, before his parents accused them – C.C., really – of rudeness by staying outside.

He turned to Niles, "Get my wife inside. Sit her with my parents, and then take all of this stuff out of the car; put it away where it all needs to go."

He didn't know where that was for half the things there, but it didn't matter. It wasn't his job to know.

Niles nodded, "Yes, sir."

It might have sounded like he was complying without complaint or concern for what had just happened, but that wasn't really the case. In fact, it was making him want to scream – specifically at Constance Graves, this time – for the slights, insults and put downs that he had just been silently witnessing.

He knew, however, that he couldn't. Even if it would've given him a great amount of personal satisfaction (and told Mrs Graves that someone really was on her side), he couldn't have spoken as out of turn of that. The older Mrs Graves would've been sure to have his head, as well as his job, and he would never have been able to stay and look after his mistress or her daughter if that were the case...

No. He had to let this one go, even if he'd say that the same could be said for Constance Graves and her son's hands, as they dangled over the edge of a cliff.

So, he took his mistress' chair inside, walking slowly as always. If the old bat Mrs Graves had the misfortune to call her mother-in-law was nitpicky and insulting about baby weight, then it was obvious she wouldn't hesitate to open that mouth of hers if the baby started crying...

Mrs Graves had only just manage to prevent that from happening outside, let alone in the house where one unhelpful grandmother would most likely take a backseat to the whole thing, feigning ignorance on why it was even happening in the first place...!

It felt cruel to have to leave her there, with the two of them. Especially as it looked as though it was all ready to start up again, the moment they turned the corner from the corridor and went into the living area.

"Well there you are, at last!" Constance cried out from her comfortable position on the sofa. "We thought you'd forgotten that you had guests to play hostess to! Or did that servant of yours insist on taking you the scenic route?"

Something about the way she said that made C.C.'s stomach churn and tighten. She was used to Constance's perpetual jabs and barbs being aimed at her, even when appearing to be talking about a servant. But to do it with the man himself in the room, and to make him an actual part of it?

It wasn't right. And it called for action.

"Niles brought me in when he was ordered by my husband, Constance," she replied, tone level even if she wanted to snap. It wouldn't do her any good to snap. "He has been nothing but swift and dutiful in his work ever since he arrived."

"Should we be impressed by that?" hissed her monster-in-law. "He's a servant – he's expected to perform."

"Now, now, Constance," Howard Graves piped up, rolling his eyes at his wife. "A good employee deserves praising from time to time. If he is good enough for our boy, he should be good enough for you."

Picking up on her cue to shut up, Constance huffed irritably but said no more. She merely lay back in her seat and gestured for one of the maids to pour her a fresh cup of tea from the teapot that had been recently brought from the kitchens.

"That's better," Howard said, before turning his attention towards C.C. and the sleeping baby in her arms. "So, am I gonna get to hold my granddaughter anytime soon or what?"

C.C. could feel her stomach clenching into a tight knot. Aurora was asleep – she really didn't want to disturb her, and handing her over to her grandparents would do just that. Had it been up to C.C., Aurora would have already been in her nursery, taking a nice, long nap before her next feed.

But it wasn't up to her. Nothing ever was. Especially when her in-laws were around. If she didn't do what they wanted, her husband would probably get mad at her for being disrespectful to his parents. He'd then scream at her, maybe even dole out a correction, and the day would be ruined.

C.C. didn't want that.

She wanted to please Chandler more than anything. Perhaps, if he saw how much his parents liked Rory, he'd warm up to the idea of having a daughter instead of a son. He would have to – he couldn't _not_ love Rory, right? He always said any children of theirs would be cherished, and it wasn't like they wouldn't have sons in the future…

Right…?

"I'm sorry, Howard," she eventually said, caving to their wishes and pushing back her own. "Niles, please take Aurora to her grandparents."

Niles wanted to frown, but bit it back. There was something wrong – something the matter in Mrs Graves' voice. He could tell; she was reluctant, but she was going to let them see the baby anyway. She was giving in.

Giving in, and giving up her own personal choice, because it was easier than dealing with whatever would come of saying "no". Even if, as Miss Aurora's mother, she had every right in the world to say it.

Could he get away with not doing it? It really wasn't what she wanted, even though it was what she'd said. He probably couldn't.

But he could try delaying it, couldn't he? He could see Mr Graves watching from his own chair, a look on his face like a building storm, drumming on the arm with his fingers.

He remembered the tasks he had yet to complete, that his employer had given. Perfect – a reasonable delaying tactic.

"Mr Graves ordered me to bring in your luggage, ma'am, once I had safely brought you to the living room," he said, noting in his mind that his employer had never actually used the word "safely". "It will still be expected, so that the car may go back in the garage..."

He saw Constance roll her eyes, but he tried to focus instead on Mrs Graves shifting Miss Aurora in her arms – still quickly preparing her to be handed over to someone else. She was watching her husband, too, with the same nervous energy that a rabbit watched a hunter in the distance.

His heart sank for her as he watched.

"That can wait a few moments; neither the luggage nor the car are going anywhere," she replied, trying to sound like everything would be fine even if it wasn't. "Mr and Mrs Graves would like to see their granddaughter."

Again, Niles noted that she spoke of both in-laws, when only Howard had expressed any interest in holding Miss Aurora.

But he knew he couldn't argue back after that. And Mr Graves didn't say a word to stop him.

He didn't obviously agree, either, but there was no order given otherwise...

Holding in a sigh, Niles nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

He walked around to the front of her chair and gently crouched, almost kneeling, to take the baby carefully in his arms. The little thing stirred a little when she was passed on from one pair of arms to the other, but Niles was relieved when her sleep wasn't disturbed.

Not that his relief would last for long – Aurora was immediately fussy the moment she was handed over to Howard.

"Ah, I see someone's cranky!" Howard said, cooing to the little mewing girl. "Count yourself lucky you can still get away with that – whining is not attractive in a woman. Especially one as beautiful as you!"

Niles felt a red mist descending on him for what felt like the thousandth time since beginning his employment for the Graves'. Miss Graves was a _baby_, for Christ's sake! How dare that pig of a man "lecture" her on what was and wasn't attractive in a woman?! The girl was just a few days old – attractiveness and whatnot weren't things that babies should be concerned about!

But he had no place in even subtly hinting that he thought Howard was wrong. So, as much as he wanted to fight back (both figuratively and literally speaking), he had to walk away. Even if that meant listening to all the awful things the man already saw planned for his days-old granddaughter, who very clearly wanted nothing more than to be back with her mother already.

He was about to excuse himself to go to the car and start unloading the bags, when the soft voice of his mistress stopped him.

"Please wait here. Constance will want a turn next."

It was almost as though the horrors he had to hear could only get worse. But, he couldn't deny her that – it wasn't as though either in-law would get up to receive the child if a servant was available to act as a middle man...

So, he stayed while Howard had his (fairly short) turn with a baby who started to struggle and fuss more the longer he held her. Then, when the man had apparently had enough of holding a wriggling child while trying to dispense unwarranted advice she didn't understand, he ordered Niles over.

The butler did – again, reluctantly – as he was told. Even if that meant passing the baby into Constance's unwelcoming arms.

"Hello dearie...!" said the older woman loudly, forcing a smile onto her face as she brought the baby down to her.

It wasn't enough for Miss Aurora, who immediately started to wail.

The first expression on Constance's face was panic, which lasted for a second before she attempted to keep up appearances by laughing it off. She then immediately went to all the old tricks – trying to bounce the baby, rock her, pat her tiny back – but nothing worked.

Nothing worked, and the screaming only got louder.

"Please, someone get her to be quiet!" Howard grimaced, covering his ears. "Ambulances and fire trucks are quieter than this!"

"I am trying to get her to be quiet, Howard!" Constance argued back, still rocking their crying granddaughter. "It's just...not working!"

"Well, find something that does!"

C.C. flinched with every word that flew between her in-laws. She could see that Chandler had stopped drumming his fingers and was now openly clutching the arm of his chair. This wasn't how he'd expected the day to go – it was ruined for him, because of Rory, with little to no possibility of saving it.

He was coiled like a spring, and could go off at any moment...

But one answer did present itself to C.C. for Rory's behaviour. And it was the perfect opportunity to slip away...!

"Give her to me," she called out above the noise to her in-laws. "She's probably hungry!"

Constance and Howard looked between each other and then at C.C.; the older woman looking annoyed, like she should've thought of it first, and the older man looking surprised, as though it had never crossed his mind.

"Well, I could've told you that!" Constance snapped. "I just wanted her to calm down before I–"

"Just hand her over, Mother!" Chandler shouted above everything else, finally having had enough. "I can't listen to it any longer! Brightmore, take my wife and the baby upstairs – to the nursery, now!"

Everything happened in quick succession, after that. Now that Mr Graves had put his foot down, his parents were no longer arguing. And that gave Niles the opportunity to take the baby back to her mother, before wheeling Mrs Graves out of the room.

He took Miss Aurora up the stairs first, placing her in her crib while he saw to her mother. There was no way he'd physically be able to carry both. Especially not with Mrs Graves in her casts, nor the stitched wound on her leg. It was bandaged, of course, but he didn't want to risk causing her pain. Or, even worse, the stitches bursting open. He didn't want to have to panic-drive her all the way back to the hospital with a probably irate Mr Graves in tow, when he could get her upstairs in one piece to a place far more restful than the room she'd just left.

He had to be delicate with her – gentle, and slow.

He also had to awkwardly ask for her permission, before he even tried. She waved it off, naturally, knowing that her child needed her up there with her.

He crouched again, letting her wrap an arm around his shoulders and carefully picking her legs up in the other, letting her huddle in as close as she needed to feel safe.

Only then did he start the journey, trying hard not to think about how warm she felt in his hold, or the way her head rested against his shoulder.

Or...or how she smelled...fresh, and sweet, like cherries, with a subtle hint of...was that roses...?

He held his breath, to the best of his ability while carrying another person. He didn't want to inhale any more than he already had – not when it was bringing up...thoughts.

He had no place thinking thoughts, when thoughts led to _feelings_.

Instead, he delivered his mistress safely upstairs in the nursery she had spent so long planning and was now going to have to spend even more time changing for the daughter she got, rather than the son her husband expected.

Miss Aurora was still screaming in her crib, but the butler hurried to settle Mrs Graves into a rocking chair (he'd be back downstairs for her wheelchair soon enough) so that he could bring her baby to her.

Mrs Graves didn't visibly relax until her daughter was in her arms again, beaming at the little one as she readied herself for a feed.

"Hello there, sweetheart...! Are you hungry...?"

The baby's response was more screaming – she clearly wasn't happy about not having been fed already. Not wanting to make her wait any longer, C.C. unbuttoned the top of her dress, covered her chest with a flannel and, being as delicate as she could, she helped her daughter latch on to her breast. That quietened her down instantly, and C.C. could finally sigh in relief.

Niles had respectfully looked away while she readied herself to feed Miss Aurora. He only dared look back at her when Miss Aurora's cries had all but disappeared. The sight of the nursing mother and her child, Niles soon realised, was precious, and was stirring some conflicting feelings inside him.

Feelings he was quick to squash and sweep under the metaphorical carpet.

"That's better, isn't it?" cooed C.C. to the baby. "You're not hungry anymore! And you gave me the perfect excuse to run away from your wicked grandmother – I owe you big time, kiddo!"

Niles couldn't help the small chuckle that left him – this was, perhaps, the first time he'd heard Mrs Graves speak her mind! He'd picked up on her distaste for her in-laws (it wasn't hard to understand, either) and her desire to be away, but he'd never thought she'd openly admit to disliking Chandler's parents! It was unlike her, considering she was constantly chasing after Mr Graves' approval, but it certainly wasn't unwelcome.

It was a small peek at the real Mrs Graves. Not the perennially anxious housewife – the real, actual woman beneath the burdens her husband had forced down on her the moment he'd slipped a golden wedding band down her finger.

"She's awful, isn't she?" Mrs Graves asked with a grin, much to Niles' surprise. "Having her around is like drinking an entire bottle of castor oil in one go!"

The surprise mounted, nearly catching him off-guard to the point where he let out a laugh. But he played it off as clearing his throat when Mrs Graves turned a quirked (but not disapproving) eyebrow on him.

He had to be careful of that. He couldn't keep on showing his feelings in the matter, when the affairs of his employers were none of his own.

His own business was strictly ensuring that they were able to go about their days in peace and happiness. As much as he could bring them, anyway, and even if he wanted to make Mrs Graves and Miss Aurora far happier than Mr Graves. The monster simply didn't deserve it.

He knew he'd have to bring the luggage up now, but he stayed around a little longer, tidying up small things in the room. He was even more reluctant to leave than he had been to give Miss Aurora to her grandfather.

And that word did beg the question – was he Miss Aurora's only grandfather? He had never once heard his mistress mention her own parents; she had to be young enough that both were alive, unless some tragic accident or illness had taken them. Surely they would be delighted to know of the birth of their grandchild?

He had to find out more about them. They had to be visiting soon, didn't they? If Mr Graves' parents had...

"Begging your pardon for asking, ma'am," he couldn't hold in the question – he had to prepare if they were to have more guests. "But when can we expect the pleasure of your own parents' visit? Surely they will be overjoyed to know of the arrival of Miss Aurora..."

Mrs Graves' face fell, very quickly forming a look of utter heartbreak. She looked like she had just been told that everyone she'd ever loved in her whole life was now gone, and that they were never coming back...

It didn't take a genius to work out that, maybe, that was what had happened in the case of her parents.

Panicking at the fact that he had clearly been incredibly insensitive, Niles took great leaps to both somehow apologise and backtrack at the same time.

"Oh, I am so sorry, ma'am! Of course, if there are no more visits still to come, then there is no more to be said. I just...wished to know if we would be expecting more guests. To help prepare. But if that is not the case, then I will...continue with everyday preparations."

"No, no, it's completely understandable, Mr Brightmore," she said, trying to force an apologetic smile. "You're only doing your job. But, no, my parents will not be coming. Not now…nor ever, I'm afraid."

Mrs Graves looked away from him – probably to hide the tears that had already gathered in the corners of her eyes.

"My family happens to be Catholic, as am I, but my husband isn't," Mrs Graves explained, voice tremulous and strained. "He didn't wish to convert and I simply couldn't become a Baptist in good faith. So our marriage was secular. My father was very much against it, but he said that, if it was what I wanted, he wouldn't interfere…"

Niles couldn't remember a time when he'd wished the Earth would swallow him whole this much. He could tell where her story was going, and he hated himself for having brought the subject up. He should have kept his big, fat mouth shut, like any other good servant would have done. She owed him no explanation, and he shouldn't have pried.

"Ma'am, you don't need to explain–"

"I don't mind, Mr Brightmore," she cut him off. "This is my reality now – I have to accept it and talk about it without crying like a schoolgirl. You see, after the wedding, my husband and I went on our honeymoon. Upon our return, we moved into our new home. I sent our address and phone number to my parents via letter – Chandler was kind enough to post it for me – and I also invited them to visit. I got their reply a few days later – a short, typed letter. They said they wanted nothing to do with me, since I had turned my back on our Church by marrying Chandler. Naturally, I was confused. I wanted to call them – ask why they were doing this when they'd said they would support me, but Chandler wouldn't let me. He said they were in the wrong and they should come to our home to talk it out. He said they'd insulted us. I wrote several letters begging them to come – to try and talk it out. To make matters worse, I became pregnant extremely quickly, and my morning sickness kept me in bed, so Chandler was kind enough to post all of my letters. So far, we haven't gotten a single response or call…"

The ending of her explanation was fast, possibly so she could finish before the tears and the pain overwhelmed her.

But Niles wasn't thinking so much about that at the moment. It hurt him, yes, to see her suffering so much, but he was also busy piecing some parts of her story together in his head.

It was Mr Graves who posted her first letter. It was Mr Graves who wouldn't let her call and talk to her parents, after their "rejection". It was Mr Graves who insisted on posting the rest of the letters, as well, after Mrs Graves had become pregnant...

There was a pattern there, and he didn't like it at all. Everything pointed to her husband purposefully keeping her from speaking to her parents – probably so she couldn't see what an awful mistake she'd made! To keep her from the people that cared about her...to make sure she was dependent on him, and no one else...

He wasn't a human being at all. To call him a monster was an insult to monsters. He was pure evil, and he was keeping his wife from every freedom she could possibly enjoy, without her even knowing it!

It had to end. Somehow, it had to end – he had to help her get word to her parents, as soon as possible!

He had to stop his voice from shaking to reply, "If I might offer a suggestion, ma'am, why do you not call them? They may surprise you with what they say..."

Mrs Graves shook her head, "I can't; the house phone is locked in Chandler's study. He hates the idea of reaching out, anyway, after the things they said..."

Niles felt his own heart break for her. He found it entirely terrible that she couldn't see what her husband was doing to her – either out of a genuine lack of knowledge about this, or because she had convinced herself so much that he wasn't doing anything wrong. He highly suspected the latter.

But he had to make her see, and he needed evidence to do that. He'd have to start poking around the place, when and where he could. He'd bet his life on something being in that locked office of Mr Graves'; if he could get access somehow, he would take a look.

And to do that, he supposed he needed to build trust. Which would start by doing as he was previously told, and bringing the luggage back in so that the limousine could go back in the garage.

So, with a nod and answer of "I understand, ma'am", he asked for permission to go finish his duties and was dismissed for the time being.

He went with a vow she'd never hear, but one that was designed to keep her and her daughter safe.

He'd find whatever it took to help Mrs Graves and Miss Aurora to escape the horrors of that house. A letter, a photograph, anything – as long as it told the truth that Mr Graves was holding back. He'd show it to his mistress when he found it – show her the kind of man her husband really was – and then he'd help her and her daughter leave.

Even if that meant staying behind and facing down the evil by himself.

Even if it was the last thing he ever did, they would be free.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter VIII**

The pained scream and subsequent crying woke Niles up – woke the entire household up, if he was being honest. It took a moment or two for him to realise where (and from whom) it was coming home, but when it did, Niles sighed in defeat.

Mrs Graves again…

It had been four days since Mr and Mrs Graves had arrived home from the hospital with Miss Graves. Four days, Niles thought to himself, that had been utterly hellish. It had started on their very first night back home, when Mr and Mrs Graves had gone to bed. Niles remembered he'd been having a late night snack with the housekeeper, Margaret, when a terrible scream had slashed through the silence of the night.

Niles had promptly rushed upstairs, only to find a panicked Mr Graves trying to shush a crying Mrs Graves as she clutched onto him for dear life. It took her a while to calm down and explain what had happened, but when she did, they all (including Chandler, surprisingly enough) felt their hearts break for her – it was her c-section, and the stitches in her leg. The combined pain was unbearable, with the c-section made much worse by C.C. being unable to walk. Normally, women had to walk around and stay somewhat active to help the healing process, but since both C.C.'s legs were currently useless (one somehow even more than the other, Chandler would have said), she'd had to stay put in bed all day long, making her extremely sore.

Pain relief wasn't an option, either, not when she was breastfeeding. C.C. didn't want to accidentally harm her baby by taking too many pills, which had translated into frequent sleepless nights filled with nothing but constant pain she wouldn't be able to escape for weeks.

With a sigh, Niles quickly dressed himself, put on his shoes and rushed upstairs to his mistress' room. There wasn't anything he could do for her pain, as frustrating and upsetting as that was, but he needed to be there, in case she asked for anything else.

He was there in no time at all, knocking rapidly on the door in order to let them know that he was there. He thought "them", knowing that Mr Graves was home that night, instead of off gallivanting for his own amusement.

"Mr Graves, sir? Mrs Graves?" he called out. "May I come in?"

Mr Graves often liked having a certain amount of control over not just his wife, but also the servants he employed. That often meant making them wait for a response, keeping them hanging on, until he finally replied with what they needed to know. In times such as these, however, the master of the house didn't usually keep anybody on tenterhooks about things.

Niles heard the shout of "Enter!" soon after he'd spoken, that time, and he opened the door to find a familiar, if still concerning sight – Mrs Graves gripping tightly at her husband, as he tried shushing her to quieten the sobs.

Mr Graves was holding her back as tightly as he obviously dared, clearly not knowing entirely what to say but determined to comfort anyway. His words were much softer than they normally were, too.

"Hey, hey...it's okay. You're gonna be fine – just relax. It will go away, it always does. It's all okay..."

The butler wished, beyond anything else in the world, that there was more that he himself could have done. It broke him a little more, he thought, any time he had to see something like this; it had to have been terrible beyond all belief, if the "comfort" nearest to her – her monster of a husband – was still her first choice!

It made him sick to think how easily it could obviously be switched on and off. But he held back the bile in order to do his job.

"Is there anything that I might do to help?" he asked. "Some ice, or a glass of water for Mrs Graves...?"

Chandler looked up at him almost pleadingly – a rare sight, if Niles was being honest.

"Please…and get my wife a clean nightdress and some new bedsheets. She's bleeding again."

Chandler gestured at the enormous stain that had formed underneath his wife. He remembered they'd rushed to the hospital the first time it had happened. There, they'd explained to them it was normal for women to have some discharge for up to six weeks after the birth, and that some women bled more profusely than others. Over the course of the next few days, it had become obvious that C.C. belonged to said group.

He'd have never imagined childbirth would be this…terrible, really. Or that it would hurt his wife so much. Or for so long…

He didn't like it. He didn't like it one bit. His wife hurting was not something he was unfamiliar with – sometimes the pain was necessary for her to learn her lesson. But this kind of pain? It was useless. Pointless. It didn't serve a purpose, and it was making him feel helpless, like he couldn't protect his wife from a terrible evil that simply wouldn't let go of her.

There was one measure of control he kept on dreaming about. It wouldn't do anything for his wife's pain, but he knew it would feel like requiting at least part of that evil.

But it would take time, if he was to do it. There were many complicated parts, that all started off with one crucial factor. It all relied on him getting his hands on the asshole that had done this in the first place...! He'd teach that guy a lesson, and he wouldn't soon forget it...

But that was a thought for another time. Right now, he had to concentrate, even if the sound of his wife whimpering made him feel less competent with every second of it that passed. He didn't like feeling like he didn't know what he was doing – that wasn't him in any measure of his life! And yet this came along, making him feel smaller than any man should – smaller than a woman, with no idea of what to do to get back to his full, towering height.

He watched instead as the butler worked, dealing with the bedsheets and the nightdress before the water or the ice. It would take longer, he supposed, and needed to be taken care of right away.

Beneath his panic, something in Chandler burned. How did Brightmore make it look so easy? He looked like he knew exactly what he was doing to hurry up and help – even if Chandler had given the order, the businessman knew he wouldn't have a clue on where to start! Not on any of it!

And yet it could all be taken care of, by a single butler without a real penny to his unconnected name.

Chandler shook the thought off – so what if Brightmore knew how to go about domestic tasks? It was his job, wasn't it? Chandler had nothing to be jealous about…

What's more – it spoke of his own ability to hire the best servants out there. Some people were meant to be dogsbodies, and some others were meant to lord it over them. Chandler belonged to the latter group and that was that.

"Sir, I think your wife needs…uh…_cleaning_," Niles said, nightdress and bedsheets clutched in his hands.

It was clear the butler felt awkward about having to mention it, but from the moment he gestured towards C.C. and the stain that had only spread since he'd been here, Chandler knew he was both right and it was urgent. His wife might've felt a little better with new sheets and a nightdress, but nothing would feel as good as being clean.

Not that he was going to let Brightmore carry that work out, no sir! The butler might've only been doing his job, but he had no business being anywhere near the area that belonged only to Chandler. Would only ever belong to him, too.

That was going to be his own next job. He'd start slowly when he got her in the tub, and just see how C.C. took it – a bath had to be better than what she was currently feeling, didn't it? He didn't know, but he didn't think it would hurt that much to find out.

At least, he hoped it wouldn't.

He nodded at the butler's suggestion anyway.

"Alright. Change the sheets and get the water and ice. I'll handle the cleaning."

He took it upon himself to move C.C. to the bathroom while the butler set to work on the sheets. But even if he was being careful (he never used the word "gentle"; men weren't gentle unless it was on the front of the word "gentleman"), slipping his arms underneath his wife to lift her was making her cry out and start to sob again.

Not that he had any choice but to listen and let it lash out at him, hurting in his heart and his pride. Even his words were doing nothing, as comforting as he tried to make them.

"It's okay, doll, it's okay – it'll be over in a second, you'll see. You're gonna be fine. You're okay, and I'm gonna get you cleaned up to match, okay?"

His wife's reply was burrowing her face in the crook of his neck. She often did that, whenever she felt unwell or was upset. He supposed it made her feel safe and loved, two things she could use right that moment.

Being as careful as he could not to disturb her casts or the bandage, he lowered her inside the empty tub, helped remove her nightgown (all while trying his hardest not to look at the first horrible scar running across his wife's once perfect stomach, or the ugly thing that was now her plated-up and stitched-up leg) and got her to lie with her back against the edge of the tub. The next step was always the worst one: helping C.C. lift and spread her legs. She couldn't open them too much yet, and it was agony to try, but they couldn't risk water touching the casts or the bandage.

"It's alright, doll, I'm nearly there," he said, trying very hard not to lose his composure at the gruesome sight in front of him. "It's just a tiny eff–"

"I don't want to make an effort!" she screamed at him, blinking away tears. "I…I can't do this anymore! I haven't slept in days, everything hurts, I can't do what I'm supposed to do as a wife and mother and… and I…I wish this would stop! I wish that damn car would have killed me rather than crippled me!"

She dissolved into sobs then. It didn't take a slap in the face for Chandler to see the true extent of the situation, and he felt a jolt of panic course through him like electricity.

She...she really meant it, didn't she? This whole thing was making her suffer so badly, suffering so much, she really wanted to die! He hadn't truly believed she'd been in that much pain before now; sure, it had been immense, but not like this! Hearing that she literally wanted to _stop existing_ over it was another ballpark entirely!

_She wanted to die, because she couldn't take the pain anymore._

And that finally let Chandler snap.

Not at her, for once. This wasn't her fault at all, even if it would be easy enough to blame the person right in front of him. This was the fault of the bastard that had been stupid enough to go drinking until he was paralytic, and then get behind the wheel of a car.

Because of him, his wife wasn't fine when she otherwise would have been. She'd have had a normal delivery and already been up and about doing normal things like any other normal housewife! He wouldn't be missing out on getting his rights as a husband, which he couldn't even demand and take because of the state that bastard had left her in.

They'd be half-way to having a son right now, too – he'd have put a boy in her this time, he could feel it in his gut. But it had all been set back; first by the crash, then by the girl arriving, and now by all the pain and discomfort his wife was going through!

He couldn't send the first kid back where she'd come from, or magically heal the broken bones or ugly scars covering his wife's body. But he could make one part of the chain of events that had started to ruin his life disappear.

He could find the drunk bastard who had started this whole thing off, and kill him. He already knew how to hurt people – what was taking it a little further? Nothing, in the grand scheme of things.

And one less asshole in the world was never a bad thing. He would be doing the world a service, via making himself feel better.

But for the time being, making his wife feel better came first and foremost. He knew she hadn't wanted any pain medication while she was breastfeeding in case it was bad for the child, but he was done with all of this crap. He was the husband in the relationship. He made the executive decisions, especially when it came down to his family's wellbeing.

She was getting pain meds. Whether she liked it or not, she was getting them. They still had plenty of pills the hospital had given them – she only needed to take some, and this would all be over. She'd be able to sleep, and so would he.

The little runt wouldn't be harmed – she had spunk, after all. Even if Aurora was a girl, Chandler had to give it to her; she'd survived a car crash, been born a month earlier than she should have, and she still seemed to be growing just fine…

Maybe, just maybe, the little thing wasn't the pathetic little whelp he'd thought her to be. It figured – if there ever was a man capable of creating an actual formidable woman, it had to be him.

"Hon, please, don't say that," he said to her, gripping her hand in his. "I know it hurts, and I'd love to take it away, but you can't give up now! Curse, scream, cry – do whatever you need to feel a little better, but don't even think about going anywhere. I can't have you leave me, now can I?"

Hearing that did make her sobs die down a little, for the moment. She knew he was right – she couldn't go anywhere. She was his wife. It was her responsibility to be there, where he needed and wanted her to be.

And he was going to make sure that she stayed.

"Okay; you do what you have to while I get you cleaned up," he said. "Then I'll get you out of here and we can try to take the pain away by getting you some of the meds that the doctors sent you home with."

He didn't ask if that was okay because that would imply it was open for debate. None of this was going to be discussed anymore – he was the man, he was in charge and what he said was final. Besides, he knew what was best in this case.

C.C. would have to have known that, but before he could reach for a cloth or a sponge to start his work, he heard her trying to slow her crying again. Like she needed to "put the breaks on", as it were, in order to calm herself down enough to say what she wanted to say.

"But...what about Rory...? She can't...she can't be exposed to those things, and if I take them–"

"She'll be fine, she's already survived worse and she hasn't even been out in the world for a week," Chandler dismissed her before she could get started. "But you need your pain medication, and we both need to sleep. I'll get Brightmore to bring the pills as soon as we're done here."

He has happy to see her nod in agreement – it meant she understood, but more importantly, it meant she obeyed. Even when she was in a situation such as this, she was willing to obey him. He truly was the master – he'd single-handedly turned his prize-winning mare into the perfect, broken-in housewife, who lived to please and follow his orders.

He would never say it aloud (not yet, at least, he didn't want her getting overconfident), but she was doing wonderfully as his wife. This was the woman he deserved – she still had a lot to learn, but she was on the right path. And that always deserved praise.

"That's my wife," he said, giving her hand another affectionate squeeze. "Now, let's get you cleaned up…"

Being as careful as he could, Chandler finally managed to place each leg on one side of the tub, giving him enough room between her legs to clean her up without risking wetting her casts. He then opened the tap and, when the water was at an acceptable temperature, he knelt down at the side of the tub, lathered the sponge with soap and water, and very gently got to work. This was the only domestic task he was willing to do, as head of the household – he didn't do chores or cleaned, that was for servants, but his wife's little private toy was another thing entirely.

It was _his_ private toy, really. If it was on his wife, and she belonged to him, then it belonged to him as well. Simple logic that any man who was worth anything knew. It was only the weak, the worthless and guys who'd never touched a woman in their lives that would say any differently.

He could think of a few off the top of his head, too. But they were best not thought about when he was busy cleaning up his wife. No man wanted to think about other guys and his wife's womanhood at the same time!

Even if there wasn't any chance of anything like that happening. He had his wife on a tight enough leash that the other dogs knew better than to come sniffing around.

And the fine specimen on the end of his leash was behaving very well, indeed. She was hardly making a single sound as he cleaned her up, even if it was uncomfortable! That was a testament to his work as a husband, really – he'd been through so much to get her to this point, and it wouldn't be long before she was the perfect model of the wife he had always dreamed of having.

The wife he'd been looking for since leaving college.

The wife he deserved, and that would give him the legacy befitting a man of his great status.

"The stuff's coming off easy," he told her. "You'll be done in no time."

He hoped that knowledge would keep her from crying out; she couldn't see how much there was still to go, and he didn't want her to start whimpering again. Not when she was being good, and it was helping him to feel more relaxed again.

Well, maybe not as relaxed as he would've been, had he been asleep in bed like a normal person. But enough that he thought he wasn't quite as on edge as he might've been otherwise.

He was calm enough that he managed to finish his work, with only minimal fussing from C.C. (which he could more than tolerate). And he did it rather well, even if he thought so himself – he often thought smugly about how well he knew her womanhood, inside and out, but he really had proof of it when he took on a task like this.

He started to grin proudly, leaving the sponge for Brightmore or somebody even lower than him to clean it off, and he washed his hands before quickly grabbing the nightdress that their butler had set out for them. He also grabbed her some new underwear and a sanitary pad from a box that the doctors had sent her home with, which she could use specifically for situations like this.

It might help, if the bleeding started up again any time soon.

The moment he was back in the bathroom, he started to help his wife get changed into the items he'd picked up, seeing the end of this particular predicament in sight.

Brightmore should've finished getting the bed changed by now.

"Come on; let's get these on you and get back to sleep."

C.C. nodded and, upon Chandler's request, put up her arms so he could slip the nightdress on her. She then fixed her sanitary pad to her underwear (her husband wouldn't and didn't know how to do it) and, with Chandler's help, she somehow managed to slip her panties on.

"That's better, isn't it?" he asked as he carefully picked her up in his arms and took her back to their bed, which Niles had artfully remade.

"Much, thank you," C.C. said, managing a small smile for her husband.

The pain wasn't as intense now, it was receding, at long last. It always did. It was a fairly regular cycle, where pain fluctuated in a curve. For now, it had piqued; she would have a little while to rest before things got ugly again.

"It's alright, doll," Chandler replied. "No need to thank me now. You can do it when you're feeling better, eh?"

That last, practically hypothetical, question was the first thing Niles heard as he walked back through the door with Mrs Graves' water and some ice.

And he nearly considered walking out of the room again, that he might retch in private. How could one man – even a man such as Mr Graves – even consider his "reward" for doing what was, essentially, the basics of being a good husband?! Did the man ever think about anything else? About doing things for other people because that was the right thing to do, not because he was going to get something out of it?!

Did he ever stop and consider the fact that Mrs Graves might not want to think about...certain pleasures, considering she was being denied them for a better reason than he was complaining about for himself? Did he not think it might upset her, to hear about everything he already clearly had "planned", when she could barely move as it was?!

Of course not. Niles didn't know what he was thinking – none of those questions would've crossed his employer's mind at all; not when they didn't involve getting Mr Graves what he wanted.

And the thought of what he wanted was making the butler sick.

But he had to swallow it back, in order to complete his task. Mrs Graves still needed the cool, refreshing water and ice he had on the tray he was carrying, and no amount of disgust would deter him from that.

In fact, he could actually save her the trouble of having to reply.

He announced himself loudly before Mrs Graves was forced to answer, "Your water and ice, sir and madam."

"Ah, yes, that," Chandler said. "Leave them on Mrs Graves' bedside table. I need you to go and get her some painkillers – she can't keep on like this."

For once, Niles thought to himself, he actually agreed with Mr Graves. Mrs Graves needed the pain relief if she wanted to recover. He understood her concerns about the meds being bad for Miss Aurora, but if the doctors had given them to her, they couldn't be that bad, could they? Mrs Graves had to take care of herself, especially if she was to look after her young daughter.

"Right away, sir," Niles said, and rushed out of the room to quickly get the medicine Mrs Graves needed.

Meanwhile. Chandler got started on settling his wife back in bed. He plumped and piled a few pillows against the headboard, and he then helped her lie down against them. They'd found she was more comfortable when sleeping in a half-sitting position rather than lying down. Finally, he pulled and tucked the covers around her and placed a gentle peck on her lips.

"You comfortable?" he asked, cupping her cheek.

"Quite s–"

A loud, hungry wail coming from the Moses basket opposite to Mr and Mrs bed interrupted the young mother in mid-sentence and made the not-so-young father flinch.

Aurora was up for yet another feed…

C.C. knew that fact immediately – she couldn't tell how she knew, she just did. Maybe she was learning how each cry sounded as she went, or maybe it was because she knew it would have to be coming up soon. She didn't know.

All she did know was that her mothering instinct had almost been so powerful that she'd just immediately tried to get up and walk.

Walk, to her baby. Like any good mother would be able to do. But she wasn't able to do that – her legs were keeping her weighed down, like the blankets and pillows that had just been piled up around her.

The guilty thoughts and worries cake creeping into her head like snakes, hissing and spitting as they punished her for even daring to try and get comfortable when Rory was waiting.

_Why didn't she try to get up and walk? It wasn't that bad – Rory needed her more than a few broken bones did...!_

_What was she waiting for? She had a few bones out of it, but her precious little one wasn't going to feed herself!_

_Only bad mothers did nothing when their children cried out to them._

That was her, wasn't it? She was the bad mother that the thoughts creeping into her mind and heart told her she was.

She was already failing at the one task it appeared she'd been undertaking naturally – she couldn't even get up to go to her own baby, for crying out loud! What kind of a mother couldn't even at least try to do that?

The thought of it broke her heart, and she immediately tried harder to walk – to push away the blankets and to pull her heavy, useless legs out of the bed. Maybe the casts would be stiff enough that they'd act as crutches? The stitches felt stiff enough that they'd hold, too. And the bandages on top would help, wouldn't they?

She'd test all those theories willingly, to get to Rory, whose cries were only getting stronger the longer she was deprived of what she needed – Milk, and her mother's loving arms.

"Rory needs her feed," she mumbled, not to anyone in particular – not even to Chandler. She just had to say it, like it was her whole reason for being. "I have to get her–"

She felt herself being softly shoved back into the pillows, Chandler's previous look of bright happiness now replaced by one of seriousness. She flinched, even though it was soft – this wasn't a correction, but it felt like it could lead to that.

It was already making her hurt with the need to apologise, alongside her need to get to Rory, before her husband even spoke.

"What do you think you're doing? You've gotta stay where you are, doll! You can't be trying to get up for every little thing!"

C.C.'s immediate reaction was to want to argue back – their daughter needed her feed, and she was already feeling like a bad mother for not having done it already. But she didn't. She knew she couldn't argue with Chandler.

It all just snowballed into her misery, instead. She hadn't had her baby at home for even a week yet; was this how it was going to be from now, on? Until she could actually walk again, whenever that would be?

It couldn't be, could it?

"Rory is hungry," she replied miserably, looking away from her husband. "I… I have to get her. She needs me…"

"I'll get her for you," Chandler said, "You have to stay put, for Christ's sake!"

He said that a little harsher than he (and she) would have liked, but Chandler seldom tolerated stupid ideas. And his wife's latest one – getting up when she had two broken legs and a slashed uterus – was a special kind of stupid. His own sleep had been disturbed because of her injuries, and now she had almost made them worse so she could get the baby? When he, an able-bodied man, was right there?!

Things like this reminded him he hadn't married her because of her brains…

He got up from the bed, making sure she was tucked back in exactly as he'd had her before, and then he went to get the kid.

Jeez, the crying seemed to cut the air itself in two, the closer he got to the basket! Did all kids make noise like that? All their future ones might be kept confined to the nursery at this age, until they grew up and could hold it in, at this rate! It was better than to have to hear that echoing all over the house.

It was almost unbearably loud by the time he made it to Rory. But still, he reached into the basket and went to scoop her up. He'd done this before; he knew how, now. Even if he hated being up at all hours on the whim of a kid who wouldn't be good for anything for years, he'd still had to help and that had given him some practice.

It had given him an analogy, too; it was just like picking up a football.

Footballs didn't move around quite so much, though. So even as he tried to pick Rory up out of the basket, it was difficult. More difficult than it normally was – could it get this difficult often?!

"Come on; we need to get you to your mother," he told the baby, getting her in his arms at last. "No need to cry about it, she's gonna feed you...!"

_Feed you and shut you up, _Chandler thought to himself as he gave the baby over to his wife, who'd already undone the top buttons of her nightdress, exposing her breasts. Back when she'd been pregnant, he'd been delighted when he'd noticed that her previously perky breasts had swollen and rounded. She was beautiful alright, but her breasts were on the smaller side – not unattractive per se, but Chandler did like it when there was more to play with.

Still, he'd counted his chickens before they'd hatched…

Her breasts were delightfully heavier, yes, but even the smallest touch made his wife flinch. He'd believed her to be overreacting, but after several failed rounds of lovemaking, he'd had no choice but to accept she was being truthful. The soreness had worsened tenfold, ever since giving birth, and to make matters worse, milk spurted out of them at inconvenient times.

Honestly, even if she'd had a boy, the downsides of his wife's pregnancy made the whole experience rather unbearable…

And to think they'd have to do this all over again when their boy came…!

"That's it, little one," his wife cooed as Aurora latched on to her breast and began to suckle. "Sorry for having made you wait – Mommy is not being very good to you, is she?"

The tone of voice she used to say that sent alarm bells ringing in Chandler's head. Usually, when her voice sounded like that, she was about to burst into–

_Dammit_

He didn't even get to finish his thought before C.C. burst into loud sobs – almost as loud as the kid had been, just a few seconds ago...!

It was almost as unbearable, too. She was a grown adult, supposedly, and she was crying like a baby?! How pathetic was that? He hadn't married her to hear her whining and crying every five minutes – was this how it was gonna be, from now on? How long would it last, if not?!

He didn't know. But he didn't think he could stand it for another second; everything he'd been through that night had been the last straw. He needed to get out of that house and a trip to Europe was long overdue. Reconstruction on the continent was very good for business, for one, and the women came with wine and without the tears or the screaming babies...

It already sounded like paradise. And, before he left, he'd speak to a couple of the right people to make sure the drunk asshole was tracked down and dealt with. He'd ideally have liked to do it himself – to see the light leave the bastard's eyes permanently – but he couldn't stay any longer. He had to make the arrangements to leave. Besides, a business trip was the perfect alibi; he couldn't possibly have anything to do with it, if he was busy with this...!

The thought of tying that loose end made him relax. Enough to remember to snap back into "caring husband" mode.

He went to put a hand gently on her back, "Hey, don't be like that. You're a great mom. It's not your fault some stupid drunk decided to go driving. He broke you – your legs and everything. That's on him."

He'd be sure to let the guys know to tell him that, just before they beat him to death.

But now he had to drop the bombshell.

"Listen, doll – I just remembered I have to go away for a while. Totally forgot I'm supposed to go to Europe. Big reconstruction project; really good for business, and it'll mean a lotta money for us at the end..."

C.C. stared up at him, half in shock, her eyes watery, "Oh..."

Chandler patted her back again, smiling brightly, "I gotta provide, haven't I?"

C.C. didn't know what to say. Part of her attempted to agree, because well, what else could she do? But it came out a quiet mumble. It seemed that her heart was breaking louder than those words!

He was leaving her here, alone, again. Was...was it because of everything that had been happening? Her pain, the baby crying, having to be up at every hour of the day and night? The doctors said the pain would stop, and Rory would eventually learn not to cry – it just took time, didn't it...? He didn't have to go because of it!

But...but maybe she was just overthinking it, because she was upset? He was right in that he had to provide for them. And if it was a good opportunity for business, the money could go a long way to helping them – they could use it for a lot of different, nice things, for themselves and the baby...

Maybe, in the chaos of the last few days, he had simply forgotten? It made sense – he hadn't been sleeping well, _and_ he'd been rushed off his feet picking up her slack...that had to be a recipe for forgetting, didn't it?

It wasn't difficult for her to give him the benefit of the doubt. It shouldn't be, at any rate…

"Will you be gone for long?" she asked weakly. "I mean, with our anniversary coming up and everything…"

"I promise to be back in time," he replied, smile still bright but not quite reaching his eyes as he got back in bed. "After all, it's three months away, isn't it? More than enough time for me to make a few bucks and bring you two something pretty from the old continent!"

C.C. tried to smile in return – he was right, their first anniversary was still a number of weeks away, and presents for her and Rory sounded lovely. His purchases always were…

Maybe this was an opportunity! If she tried hard enough, she could be back to some semblance of health by the time Chandler returned. It would be her special surprise for him, and once things had gone back to normal, he'd be a lot happier. _They'd_ be a lot happier, and soon enough they'd be able to start trying for a boy, and that would make her husband the happiest he could be.

Yes…maybe this was exactly what they needed. It would give her time to recover without being an unfair burden to him, lose the baby weight (or as much as she could anyway) and, if her recovery went well, plan a nice little celebration for their first anniversary! With any luck, the day would be just a perfect as their wedding, and he'd never have to be cross again and they'd be a wonderful, loving family.

"You spoil us," she said, leaning in on him to place a small peck on his lips. It hurt like hell, but he deserved it. "Thank you."

Chandler grinned. Perfect. He was getting out of that madhouse and escaping to Europe. He could taste the fine foods already, imagining himself with a glass of the finest champagne the restaurant had available. He'd probably have their finest waitress in his lap by the end of the evening, too...

"You're welcome," he told his wife. "Nearly ready to go back to sleep?"

He certainly knew that he was ready. He'd have to be up and about early to make his arrangements as quickly as possible. He didn't want a repeat of that night, so he'd do it and get away as soon as he could. A month or so would suit him just fine.

C.C. looked down at Rory, frowning a little, "I'll only be ready when she is. After my pills, too."

Ah, yes – Chandler had almost forgotten that Brightmore had gone for the medication! It pleased him that C.C. had remembered all by herself, though; she'd sounded like she was having doubts before. This told him that she'd accepted his authority on the matter.

She looked back up at him again, her eyes hopeful this time, not wet or even red.

"Could...could you hold me, while I finish this off?"

Well, he supposed that he could. It _had_ turned into a pretty good evening after all, even if it had started off a little shaky. But now, everything was fine. It would all be fine; he'd get his peace and quiet, a drunk bastard would soon be sleeping with the fish, and he'd get his perfect wife back when he needed.

So yeah, he could hold her.

"Of course, doll."

He let her snuggle into his chest with his arms around her, while she still fed the kid, and they waited in peaceful silence for their butler to come back with her medication.

Chandler smiled to himself, there in the soft light of the room. Finally, things were getting back on track. His wife was doing as she was told, and they'd be able to start trying for that son when he came back from his trip.

He'd have the family he deserved in no time, at the pace they were going.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter IX**

Niles had never imagined he could harbour a deep-rooted hatred for an inanimate object, yet here he was, glaring at Mr Graves' study door, and wishing he could just smash it open right then and there. He'd been trying to pick the lock ever since Mr Graves had left for Europe, the bloody bastard!

It had been two weeks since he'd been forced to pack his master's bags for his "extended business trip", and Niles' disgust was still going strong. Burning in his chest like a bonfire. He'd seen through his half-assed excuse of an impromptu business opportunity – he just hadn't want to deal with his poor wife and their infant daughter.

God forbid that the son of a bitch lost some sleep because his wife was in unbearable pain!

For all his boasting about being a big, strong man, Mr Graves certainly wasn't acting like one. Real men didn't shy away from their responsibilities, and Mr Graves had done just that by abandoning his family in a time of great need. His poor wife was still in great pain – granted, less than she'd been in the first few days after giving birth, but great pain nonetheless. That had translated into near-constant late night visits to Mrs Graves' rooms for Niles and Margaret. The latter would bathe her, clothe her and clean her wound and redress the bandages when they needed changing, while Niles would help with her daughter (who now slept in a Moses basket on Mrs Graves' bed, so she could have easy access to her child) and attend to her when she was in pain, including bringing her painkillers when she needed them.

Niles had had to hold her a number of times – the pain had been unbearable, and she'd needed the support. Not that he'd ever admit it, but he'd gotten somewhat hot under the collar whenever that had happened. He'd tried telling himself he was just doing his duty, that he shouldn't be having…inappropriate imaginings about his own (married) mistress, but when that hadn't worked, he'd simply swept his thoughts under the rug.

Another way he'd found not to think about said thoughts (that didn't include him doing something incredibly improper alone in his room), was directing his energies to finding proof Mr Graves had not been truthful about the letters. Naturally, the first place he'd wanted to search had been his office. That had soon proved a bit of a problem – the key to it wasn't anywhere to be found.

That was why, for the past two weeks or so, he'd devoted all his free time (and some time that wasn't _supposed_ to be free) trying to summon up his courage and skills from his days in the Army. The Armed Forces, of course, being the place where he had learned to pick locks.

It hadn't been an official part of training, of course – his Commanding Officers preferred a few other methods before considering that (breaking the lock open with a rifle or pistol, kicking the door in or just blowing the wall of the building away with a tank). But it was one they encouraged among the men, if they found themselves in a tight spot. That was why they'd been willing to overlook a few certain "underworld" characteristics in some of their squadron members; they may have been up to questionable behaviour back in Blighty, but the skills they had could be invaluable for their survival on the continent.

If his squaddie friends had depended on him right then and there, Niles knew he would've gotten them all shot by the Germans several times over by now. He just couldn't get the pick to shift the tumblers to the right location! He'd tried everything short of a stethoscope to listen to where they were falling, but it didn't seem to matter. It was like they shifted and changed each time he tried, even though that wasn't physically possible…

He'd thought he'd had it at least twice, too, only for the bloody thing to snap in his hand...!

But he had to keep trying, didn't he? He knew the evidence he needed was just behind that door, so close it was almost within reach and exactly what his mistress needed to see...

It nearly made him want to cry, being so close and yet still so far. But he held it in – he couldn't have anybody seeing him sobbing over a locked door. He'd never be able to live down _that_ sort of shame!

But he wasn't even going to think about that – nor would he think about giving in, either. If he wanted his mistress and her daughter to be safe, he had no choice but to keep going until either he broke down, or the stupid bit of metal he was looking at did.

Sighing to himself, he flexed his aching fingers and bent over to tackle the lock again.

"What d'you think you're doin'?!"

"Ah!"

With a yelp and a jolt of surprise, Niles bolted upright, the pick sailing out of his hand as he spun to face the person who'd snapped – the person who'd caught him right in the act.

Margaret was stood behind him, her face like a building storm and her arms folded across her chest. And it was obvious what she thought was going on right then, even if that had been...well, not entirely unrelated to what Niles was doing, but for completely the wrong reasons!

"Well, look what we have here," she said, on the verge of seething.

Not giving him any chance to explain either, as he was quick to find out.

"Margaret, please, I can–"

"You stop talkin' right now!" she rounded on him as she demanded his confession, "I've caught you red-handed! Just who do you think you are, tryin' to break into that office?! Pokin' around like a prospector in an old gold mine, I bet! What were you tryin' to do, huh? Steal valuables? Chequebooks? _Real_ money?!"

Niles was horrified by her accusations, both the very idea of taking money that didn't belong to him and the fact that Margaret thought he was capable of it.

In the back of his mind, it also confirmed that there was a safe in that office – there would have to be, in order to keep money safe and sound! Mr Graves was the sort of person to hoard his resources as best he could, as well. Like a dragon from a fairytale, or maybe the start of Ebenezer Scrooge from _A Christmas Carol_, only worse...

But there were other times to think about that in more depth. Later. When Margaret wasn't on the verge of killing him.

He pressed himself against the locked door, cornered by his friend, "No! I wouldn't ever–"

"Then why do you need to go into Mr Graves' office so badly?" she countered.

Niles shifted uncomfortably. He didn't want to get anybody else involved in this – it could mean serious trouble for all of them, if they were caught! And he was almost completely sure that Mrs Graves wouldn't want her personal business being spread all over the house...

But his silence spoke unfortunate volumes to Margaret, who just threatened him again.

"Or maybe that's somethin' you'd like to explain to the police?"

"No!" Niles shouted out, nearly begging.

He couldn't let anybody else get involved – not really – but maybe...maybe he could simply tell Margaret and then ask her not to tell, or to get involved? She knew how to keep a secret; she was his friend, even when she was telling him she'd hand him over to the police in a heartbeat over this...

"I'm not trying to steal money!" he explained before it could go further. "I think that Mr Graves has been keeping letters both written to and written by Mrs Graves , preventing them from going to the people they should have! I think he has been replacing them with forgeries, to isolate her from her family and friends! If it really is happening, and I can find even one of those letters in this locked office, then she will realise that he is not the man she thought he was!"

Margaret studied him carefully, her body...not relaxing but no longer preparing to fight (him, at least)...as he silently held his ground over the matter.

"You're bein' straight about this? No funny business on your end?" she asked, calm but with an air of a storm building underneath.

Niles nodded quickly, his words nearly garbled in how fast he explained everything that Mrs Graves had told him. The letters, the replies, the denying her phone calls - everything that Mr Graves had done, but that she apparently couldn't see anything about which could make them wrong, or vile, or unfair to her in any way.

But the servants saw what what was wrong with it all. Every word incriminated their employer further. And Margaret's jaw set in place before it had even finished. She knew that Mr Graves was a cold, heartless monster who hurt his poor wife at every turn, but this was taking it to a whole new level! Stealing letters from her, in order to keep her from everybody she'd ever known?!

He was keeping her prisoner. A prisoner that he was using for his own cruel and selfish gain!

The very idea set Margaret to burning inside. She knew the only key in the whole world that went to that office was with Mr Graves – he kept it with him at all times. As such, it had to be in Europe with him right at that very moment.

If it were up to her, she knew that she'd be kicking that door down and Mr Graves right along with it, in order to get the proof Niles was talking about, but there was no way of getting it!

She wished beyond everything that that wasn't the case. The man didn't deserve the benefit of the doubt, or any privacy, and Mrs Graves needed to see the proof that she had married a nightmare!

They needed to get that door open, but they were going to have to wait. They needed to wait for the key, make Mrs Graves see the proof, and then help her kick the garbage to the curb at the end of it!

"So, will you promise me to keep quiet about this?" Niles eventually asked – pleaded with, really – her.

"I will do more than that," replied the housekeeper. "I will help ya. It's mighty time Mrs Graves got away from that monster! She's pretty as a peach and has got some brains in her head – she can do much better than him!"

Niles was inclined to agree. Mrs Graves could have the world, if she wanted, but she'd never be able to if she stayed tied to her bastard of a husband.

"Then it's up to us to ensure Mrs Graves gets out of here before it's too late. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll get back to picking the lock."

"Now, hold your horses, mister!" Margaret said, coming to stand between the butler and the door. "You can't just go around pickin' locks – 'specially when Mrs Graves is in no condition to make a break for it right now!"

Niles thought about it for an instant longer than he had previously, and realised that she was right. Mrs Graves couldn't go anywhere right now, even if she wanted to. Her legs were nowhere near mended, she had only a skeleton of support and she had a newborn daughter to think about!

It would be setting her up for disaster, trying to move her anywhere else right then. He was a little ashamed, really, that he hadn't thought of that in his time trying to plan this.

He supposed that he had just been so worried about her and Miss Aurora – for their well-being and safety – that he had wanted to act as soon as possible.

But it wasn't possible. They needed a plan, and he needed to find the key that unlocked the door. He doubted Mr Graves looked at the letters very often – he might not notice if only one of them was gone. There might not be much harm in waiting, if they could do this properly.

And he meant it when he thought "they". Mrs Graves didn't have to know what he'd told Margaret. All she would need to find out was that she had people in the house who were willing to help. He would more than happily accept her help, if it meant getting Mrs Graves and her daughter to safety.

But where to begin, both with the key and in general?

"You are right," he said, letting her guard the door without complaint. "But how are we going to get in? Where do we start with this plan?"

Margaret bit deeply into her lip. It wasn't hard to tell that even she didn't like the answer she was going to have to give, even if it was the only one she could.

"Mr Graves carries that key just about everywhere with him, including to Europe; I'm pretty darn sure he'd swallow it before givin' it up," she said. "We're gonna have to bide our time. Wait for him to come back, and then we take the thing out from under him...!"

She sounded like she was going to enjoy that last part very much, and honestly Niles couldn't blame her. He couldn't wait to get started on this, either – even if they couldn't do much else apart from wait for Mr Graves to return from this trip.

There seemed to be a great sense of irony about the whole thing, which he hoped wasn't setting them up for the full plan.

But speaking of the full plan, she had mentioned something which had reminded him of a later step as well – the safe. He thought that if Mr Graves had to be keeping the letters anywhere, it would be in there. Where else in the house would be so secure, other than a locked, heavy box in a room only he had the key to? Besides, if they were going to return Mrs Graves to her family, a small amount of that money might come in useful. They didn't know where her parents lived – getting a cab there could cost a lot, and she didn't have any other means of getting money.

That settled it. He needed to ask Margaret about the safe; mainly because he was technically assuming that there was one, going on the basis of her words and the idea that their employer did things how they expected.

Even though Chandler Graves hadn't done one single thing as he'd expected, from the moment Niles had entered the house.

"I can agree to that plan," he told Margaret with a nod. "You said there was money in Mr Graves' office, too – is there a safe in there?"

"I saw it put in there myself," the housekeeper replied, raising an eyebrow a little. "Why?"

"I'm hoping the letters he is keeping from Mrs Graves are in there," he told her. "If it's the most secure room in the house, they most likely will be. All we'd need to do was find out the combination and that part of the plan would be taken care of. We could, perhaps, also see about getting her enough money from there to get back to her parents' house, too."

Margaret thought about this, then nodded, "Sounds a mighty fine idea to me. Noble, too."

Niles shook his head at that, dismissing the notion (plus several other notions) before it could even take hold.

"This isn't about being noble."

The housekeeper smiled at him in a way that made him think she knew something he didn't. He didn't ask what that thing was, though.

"Well, whatever it's about, just know that you'll have me right behind ya," she said, stepping away from the door. "I'll be waitin' on the next step, whenever it's ready."

She then left him to it, heading back to her duties. Niles, pleased with the results even if he was still a little bit astounded, supposed that he should get back to work as well. They couldn't stand there all day; someone else might've questioned what they were doing, and it would have been a slippery slope of getting into trouble from there. Especially if any "bad" behaviour was reported to Mr Graves – that would make it doubly difficult to carry out anything, knowing he could be watching.

But they weren't going to be caught, if they kept on being careful. They had the basis of their plan so far; it would be to bide their time, wait for Mr Graves to come back with the key and act then.

While they waited, they would care for Miss Graves and Mrs Graves as best they could, making sure that the latter recovered and helping her at every turn. She deserved to know that somebody was on her side.

And said somebodies were hoping with their whole hearts that they could save her from the awful, terrible man she had married.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter X**

Seventeen days. That was how long it'd been since Chandler had left for Europe (London, more specifically), and C.C. thought that she had been able to feel every single hour passing in the meantime. How could she not, when she knew what – if not who – he'd be doing while he was over there? "Business" never meant just business to him...

It chipped away at her heart every time he did that, and yet he still went and did it. She knew there wasn't anything she could do to stop it, though – he was a man, after all, and men had needs...that was what he'd explained to her the first time, when she'd realised what had happened when he'd been away. They'd...argued, a large amount, and that had resulted in "corrections" she still felt if she thought too long or hard about what Chandler did when he was away. She hadn't asked questions again after that – he was away and he had needs, that was all she needed to know.

It just tore at her, thinking about him fulfilling those needs. The way he'd be smiling at all those other women, selecting one...taking her to his room to...do it...did he make the woman undress fully? Did he do the same?

Did they know he was married? Did they care? Did he even tell them?

She had to stop thinking about it, and all the questions that came after, before she burst into hurt and humiliated tears at the dining room table. She had to keep it in, and remind herself that she was the one who was married to him – she meant the most, didn't she? She wouldn't be wearing a wedding ring on her finger, if that wasn't the case...

Even that little silver lining was quickly tarnished by her next thought. She wasn't even going to be able to fulfil her wifely duties when he got back – not even to prove that she was more important to him than any of those...those women that he would be spending time with right then! Her injuries wouldn't heal in time and allow for it; not even gently...

She felt like putting her head in her hands, or setting it down, defeated, on the table. She was basically useless to him for as long as she stayed like this...!

She wondered if it was as useless as she was as a mother...

Ever since she'd been in that chair (an entire month now), she'd needed help from anybody who would provide it. And, for now, that was Margaret and Niles. The former for bathing and dressing her, as well as cleaning and dressing her operation scar, attempting to chat and joke with her each time (she appreciated it, but couldn't really reciprocate), the latter for changing Rory and bringing her over for feeding and dressing the little one. The butler had also brought her every meal – anything, and at any time she wanted – and had carried her all over the house. No matter if she needed the bathroom, wanted to sit in the living area, or needed to go to sleep, he would be there in an instant to help her get there.

She'd become dependent on that, in order to do anything around her own home.

They'd been better about it than she deserved, too, considering she'd been nothing but upset practically the entire time. A good wife and mother shouldn't need so much help for everything in her baby's life – she'd know what to do, how to do it, and she'd get it done as quickly as it needed to be...

She sighed heavily to herself, hoping the breath would lift the weight in her chest. Not that it did. The sight of Rory asleep in her Moses basket on the chair next to her should've done the trick, but that hadn't worked, either. Not to get her wrong, her daughter was adorable as always, but the sadness was too penetrating that day.

Not even the special lunch that Niles had brought for her had any effect. No matter how good it was, if even the sight of her baby girl wasn't enough to cheer her up, it wasn't going to do anything for her.

She was still picking at it, turning over little lumps of mashed potato and tearing the chicken into shreds with her fork, by the time the butler came into the room, carrying a small plate and another fork, ready to serve her dessert.

Unbeknownst to her, Niles was hoping with every fibre of his being that she would like it. That it would be enough to give her some comfort, or bring a smile back to her face even if only for a moment.

None of the meals he had brought for her had managed to draw anything like that so far. No matter how much she had loved the food before any of this had happened – he'd even brought several of her favourites – it all ended the same. Some of the plates had gone back completely untouched!

That was why he'd decided to step up and take matters into his own hands. He didn't usually insist on stepping into the cook's territory, but he'd exercised his right as the head of all operations "below stairs", as it were, and taken control of enough space and ingredients in the kitchen to do just that.

The result had been magnificent, if he did say so himself. A wonderfully soft, gooey chocolate fudge cake, still slightly warm from the oven but just cool enough so that the buttercream didn't melt. He hadn't made one in some time, but it had turned out perfectly. And there was plenty left over, if Mrs Graves wanted more at a later date.

He tried not to let his spirits fall at the sight of her misery as he approached, and he smiled as brightly as he could to combat the feeling.

"Here we are, ma'am. Your dessert is served."

C.C. barely looked up from her plate, and all the delicious-yet-unappetising food she had already in front of her. She really didn't want to add yet another plate to the pile; it would only go to waste if he put it down...

"No thank you, Niles. I'm not in the mood for any dessert..."

That was when the butler's smile finally gave way into a frown. She truly was unhappy, down to her very core...

But she still had to eat, didn't she? Even if it was just a little bit of something sweet...

"Are you quite sure, ma'am?" he asked, really before he could stop himself. "It is my mother's own recipe – I followed it to the letter, so it should be quite delectable. If I am as good as she is, of course..."

C.C. paused, eventually turning her head thoughtfully towards the plate he was holding. The slice of chocolate cake that was on it looked...well, like it had come straight out of the pictures in a recipe book! Even the cook had never made anything quite like it!

And he'd made it just for her...?

"You made this?" she had to ask aloud, almost in awe.

Niles nodded, "Indeed I did, ma'am. And there is plenty more where this came from."

C.C. couldn't help the warmth slowly filling her veins at that knowledge. Nobody had made a cake just for her in years; not since her parents had insisted on giving her the finest birthday parties a little girl could have. Even her wedding cake had been chosen by Chandler, as he'd found the exact right one and wouldn't even think of losing out on it by trying others.

This was the first. And it would be rude of her to refuse, wouldn't it...?

"Well, uh...thank you. I suppose I can try it, seeing as you went to so much trouble, and it does look wonderful...!"

Trying not to look as happy as he really felt, Niles gently laid the plate down on the table and handed the fork over to his mistress, who accepted it readily. He took a step back then, aware that she needed some space to dig into her dessert.

Still, he kept a watchful eye on her as she slowly but surely started to work on her treat. Much to his delight, he could immediately tell that she liked it – her closed eyes and near-constant delighted humming were enough proof of that. Forkful after forkful of chocolatey delight made its way to and into her mouth almost non-stop. C.C. could barely remember the last time she'd eaten with such abandon – probably before marrying Chandler, he always said women shouldn't show they are enjoying their food, because it makes them look like greedy pigs.

She wouldn't have accepted the dessert if he'd been there. He wouldn't have approved of it, and he'd have let her know at once by way of a scathing comment about her having-gained-slash-wanting-to-gain weight. But he wasn't there right that moment, and if he could indulge while he was away, then maybe so could she. As long as she looked her best when he came back, of course.

"This is delicious, Niles!" she said, turning a little in her chair to face her butler.

"It's my mother you have to thank, ma'am," explained the butler. "She came up with this recipe herself. My good father had a bit of a sweet tooth, and after he and my mother married, she made it a habit of creating treats for him to indulge in after work."

"She sounds like a lovely woman," C.C. replied, smiling. "Your father must be a happy man."

"He was, ma'am, very much so. And he made sure to always let her know just how happy she made him."

C.C. caught the wording and frowned, turning a little piece of the cake over in her mouth a few times before swallowing.

"I...I take it your father is no longer with us?"

She could've sworn that she heard an intake of breath from the butler then, as well as saw him stiffen out of the corner of her eye. She felt her stomach drop, and she was about to apologise for even bringing it up when Niles spoke of his own accord.

"Indeed, ma'am. For several years now."

Every word hurt, but Niles knew he had no other answer. And it wasn't Mrs Graves' fault – she had simply asked a question. Besides, if he was to work with her, and have the kind of close relationship trusted butlers had with their employers, then she was going to have to find out sooner or later.

She seemed to regret bringing the subject up entirely, though. She had lowered her fork back to her plate, and was now looking at him with no small amount of concern.

"Oh...I'm sorry..."

Niles shook his head a little, eyes turned towards the floor.

"It's quite alright, ma'am. It is painful, but it is also somewhat expected when your country is at war," he said. Seeing the look on her face at his explanation, he was prompted to continue. "My parents lived with their employers, the Sheffield family, in London. Even as the war went on. The whole family had decided to stay in the city when it looked as though escaping to the countryside would be the safer option. They'd wanted to support the war effort, and to make a point of it to encourage others to do the same. Then, the Blitz came: a year's worth of overnight bombings and air raids on the capital. Most nights, the family got out of the house and went to their shelter, but there was one night where they were taken by surprise. The house was hit before they could even reach the garden, and everyone scrambled to escape the wreckage before it collapsed entirely. But my father...he realised that the Sheffields' daughter, Jocelyn, hadn't made it out with the rest of them. He went back in to find her, and she made it out. But he didn't come back in time – the whole thing collapsed before he could."

His heart felt like someone was juicing it like an orange at this point, but he knew it was only a matter of time before Mrs Graves found out the rest, anyway. It might as well all be said together, not left to fester.

"My mother could not bring herself to tell me. Not while I was away, fighting...I suppose she assumed that I would have enough to be dealing with."

C.C. let the handle of her fork clatter down against her plate. She would normally be horrified at making that kind of noise, but in the moment, she didn't even notice it. She didn't care.

She didn't care about anything but the heartbreaking story he'd just told her.

Niles' father had been an absolute hero – saving a life from an horrific death, but suffering one himself! Losing him must have crushed their entire family, especially Niles' poor mother. She couldn't even imagine how either of them must have felt. Mrs Brightmore, for losing a beloved husband (C.C. didn't know how she'd feel, if she lost Chandler), or Niles, for coming home to find out that a previously filled chair at the table was now empty. Had been empty, for years.

Having to get rid of her own family, even for good reason, had hurt enough. It had to be devastating to know that part of it had gone, while you had been away. It was devastating to her, anyway. It hurt, deep in her heart, to the point where she thought it would break in two, and her mind could only repeat over and over how unfair it all sounded.

"Your father was a noble soul, and a hero," she said, wishing she could offer him more than a few encouraging words.

Good thing, she suddenly realised, that she actually _could_ offer some extra help. As mistress of the house, she was in charge of the servants, and that included their wages. Chandler would just ask her how much he had to unload and he'd do it, no questions asked. It looked like he'd be giving away a little more than usual from then onwards.

"Thank you, ma'am, but it's what anyone would have–"

"Shush now," she cut him off, not having any of his downplayed heroics. "Your father was a hero, and I'd very much like to help your mother now that he isn't here. I'll raise your salary by $300 – the extra money will go to your mother, so she can live as comfortably as possible."

Niles tried hard not to let his jaw drop, but only succeeded in making sure he let out a flabbergasted, completely disbelieving noise as his mouth did what it wanted to do and fell open.

An extra three hundred dollars a month?! That was more than...more than any servant in Britain got! Probably more than any other servant in America, too! It was enough to keep a whole family more comfortable, let alone one person...

And it would all be paid to him, to ensure that his mother – that one person – got the life she deserved...? It was practically a miracle to think that she would be so well provided for! She was already living in a cottage of her own on the Sheffields' estate, complete with a little garden and fully equipped with everything a home could need. She also had Joseph's full salary still paid to her every month – the Sheffields had insisted on helping her with it for the rest of her days as a way to repay Niles' family for saving Jocelynn, even though Marie Brightmore had tried to refuse it. They'd said it was to make sure she was taken care of, and wouldn't hear a word of protest in return. Marie had eventually given in and had decided to quietly accept it, grumbling about how it was too nice of them only in private.

But this money from his own wages could help her get the things she loved the most (perhaps with less protest, too) – the foods she liked, the books she wanted, anything extra she needed for her home...

The thought of the look on his mother's face didn't stop doubt and guilt creeping in underneath, though. Could he really take the pay rise? In good faith and with a clear conscience? He had just spent some time talking about his own family's history – mainly their greatest tragedy. What if it had come off simply as a sob story, when he had only meant to explain what had happened?

Perhaps he should find a polite way to decline it, and then make sure he earned any increase in pay that he got? That would be the honest thing to do, wouldn't it? The correct thing to do. And that way, his mother would still get the life she deserved to have, just...maybe a little bit later than this.

He would do the right thing by everybody involved. And that meant declining the money.

Or, at least trying to.

"That is certainly very generous of you, ma'am, but I am afraid that I simply cannot acce––"

"I wasn't _offering_ to give you a raise, Mr Brightmore; I was _telling_ you that you are getting one," Mrs Graves cut over him firmly. "There is nothing for you to accept or decline, it is simply there. It's like air – you breathe it in, accept it as a part of life, and you have no say in its presence."

Niles had to force himself not to insist about it not being necessary or fair. It was clear Mrs Graves wouldn't hear anything about him not taking the pay, and it wouldn't be proper to argue with his mistress, especially after her kind gesture. He could only hope to reciprocate her kindness by being the best butler she'd ever had – he'd made that promise already, but now it went doubly so!

"Alright, ma'am – thank you very much," he said to her, bowing his head. "I will let my mother know as soon as possible."

"That would be wonderful, Niles. She deserves the kindness – I don't know what I'd do if I'd been in her position…" C.C. said, going back to her half-eaten dessert. "Widowed, in the middle of a war, with my child away on the frontline… she must have been through a lot."

Niles nodded, mouth twitching into a sad smile. His mother certainly had had it rough – she'd lost most of her possessions in the bombing (some were safe in the bunker, like family albums and important documents – Niles' birth certificate, savings and such), she'd had to keep the horrible truth to herself so as not to worry Niles while he was on the front (which had been a terrible burden on its own), and had had to help the Sheffields move to their countryside estate. He wished he had been there to look after her, but things were as they were. He'd been busy shooting Nazis in the face, and that had been, tragically enough, more important than their own, personal loss.

"It was a difficult time, indeed, but my good Mother is hard as nails." Niles said, chuckling. "She actually saved my father's life. That was how they met! He was a British soldier during the Great War, and was stationed in the Western Front in northern France. He and his squad members got separated from the rest of the company on their way to the Hindenburg Line, got lost and eventually wound up in the middle of a dingy French town that had been ravaged by the Germans. Most townspeople had already left – with no food, water or supplies left for them, it made no sense to stay. My mother had stayed behind because of her own ailing mother, who hadn't been able to move. After she'd died, my mother tried to leave, but when a number of German soldiers spotted her, they had a different idea for her…"

Niles expression darkened, much like his father's used to do whenever he or Marie retold the circumstances of their first meeting.

"My father and his fellow squad members were actually leaving town when they heard her scream," continued the butler. "He was the only one to go to her aid, and he made it just in time before those animals did something awful to her…"

C.C.'s eyes widened and she just about managed to cover her mouth with one hand before a shocked gasp could leave her lips. Those...those _monsters_ had been about to...she couldn't even think the word! That one act was too terrifying to even contemplate, violating beyond all measure, and violence that left a lasting impression.

All she could think was that it would've hurt, inside and out, for such a long time afterwards, if Mrs Brightmore had had to recover from it at all. A further drop in C.C.'s stomach accompanied the thought that those animals may not have even given her time to recover. They might have considered the "sport" over, and made the kill...

She had to stop thinking so deeply about it. It was all too awful to even contemplate, and it made her hurt for Niles' mother all the more. All she could do to take away the horrors of the imaginings was listen to the rest of what Niles had to say.

"He fought them off – all three of them," he sounded surprised when he spoke about his father's heroics, but also proud at the same time. And maybe slightly like he could well up. "But one of them did manage to pull a knife and wound my father. It didn't hit anything vital, but he was hurt enough that my mother insisted on taking him back to her old home. She nursed him back to health herself, from there."

He saw the smile start to appear on Mrs Graves' face at that. He understood what kind of warmth must have been spreading inside – it would be one of happiness, and one of relief. It was the same feelings he'd had, when he'd first heard this story.

It was a tale of two people overcoming the horrors of war, in order to be together. And they had made it, even if only for a while. There was happiness to be found in it, still, despite the sadness of the ending.

"Was you father sent home afterward?" she asked, clearly still curious. "And did your mother go with him?"

"No, he didn't wish to – he wated to fight," replied the butler, smiling a little. "My mother and father spent a few weeks together while he recovered, and they slowly fell in love. She didn't allow him to leave until he was well enough, but he suspected she kept him cooped up inside for longer than strictly necessary. Even then she worried about him! But when the moment to re-join his troop came around, they shared a kiss, and he promised he'd be back for her as soon as the war ended – he asked her to give him a year after it was over to look for her. If he didn't show up, then she could do as she pleased. He gave her his tag to cement his promise. That meant a lot to her, because, had he died in battle, he wouldn't have been identified."

C.C. gasped in spite of herself – she didn't like to be emotional in front of others, but by God, Niles' parents' love story was so romantic she herself had been left swooning! Mr Brightmore had been Mrs Brightmore's knight in shining armour, doing the impossible for her and her love. She wondered if, in the same situation, Chandler would have done the same thing for her…

A brief, dark thought of him being more likely to join the Germans in the fun rather than help her (men had needs, right?) crossed her mind, but she was quick to give herself the mental equivalent of a swat on the back of her head and swiftly pushed that thought to the back of her mind.

Of course Chandler would have done the same thing! What had she been thinking? He loved her! He would do anything to protect her – it was silly of her to think otherwise…

"I take it he found her, correct?" she said, trying to sidestep her mental transgression. "After the war was done?"

"He certainly did, ma'am," Niles replied, beaming. "It took him a while to track her down, but by the end of January 1919, they were together in England and had gotten married. It was a small ceremony, but very happy nonetheless. I came along almost ten months later; my father already had a job by then, working for the Sheffield family as their new butler. My mother also joined the household staff as a maid, but she only began working after I was born."

C.C. felt her heart give another flutter. It had all sounded so romantic, and they'd settled into the life of a family so quickly after they had come back...! Niles' father had been the kind of man a girl only ever read about in fairytales, and his wife had become the damsel in distress. The princess who had needed rescuing, and who had rescued him in return. If it hadn't been for the way everything had ended, C.C. would have said (with stars fully in her eyes) that it was practically a dream come true...

"It sounds as though your father was a wonderful man. A rare breed," she said. "Your mother was very lucky to find him, in amongst the masses."

In her phrasing, something clicked in Niles' mind, and he sensed an opportunity. She had said herself that wonderful men were a rare breed – perhaps he could show her just how rare they were? By proving that her own husband was not among their number, for a start.

If he could show her how much his own father had loved his mother, completely and unconditionally – the exact opposite of everything he had seen of his employers, so far – then maybe she would see it clearly for herself? See that her husband was not a good man, or right for her (or any other woman) in any way.

He could only try.

"Indeed she was, ma'am," he agreed, before starting. "He cared for her in every way possible – especially when she was expecting me. He would sit with her all the time that he could, trying to feel me kick, and discussing names that she liked. He didn't care if I was a boy or girl in there; he only wanted to make sure that I was healthy, so he talked to me, and saw to it that my mother stayed off her feet where she could."

The reaction in C.C. was immediate – Mr Brightmore hadn't cared if he'd had a boy or a girl? That was…odd. Practically from the very first moment Chandler had found out about her pregnancy, he'd talked non-stop about their future son. The idea of a daughter had never crossed his mind. He couldn't fathom not getting his "heir". It had made her a little sad inside (_incredibly sad inside_), but she hadn't said anything, so as not to bother her husband with her worries. He hadn't been there to help her much, either, with all his alleged business trips and long office hours, and they hadn't discussed names – he'd picked their son's name from the start, and only let her choose when he realised they'd had a girl…

Sometimes he had cuddled her, and talked to her belly, but that had only happened when he'd been in a good mood, and in hindsight he'd been in an awful mood for much of her pregnancy. Maybe he'd been nervous? Or anxious about fatherhood? She certainly had been! And, perhaps, he hadn't helped around because they had staff to do that for him.

Right…?

It couldn't be that he didn't really care…

"Did he now?" she said, voice slightly too high-pitched. "Well, your father, as I've already said, was a saint."

"Not at all, ma'am – he just did his duty by his wife and child. That's what any decent and honourable man would do," said Niles.

He had picked up on her distress, and he absolutely hated to have to do this, but she had to see – she needed to. He wasn't planning on pushing the subject for much longer (he knew when he was crossing too many boundaries) but he wasn't quite done yet.

"And he made sure to help out when I was a newborn. He helped feed me, clothe me, bathe me, burp me – you name it! Anything my mother asked, he did."

Mrs Graves looked as though she was about to say something – how incredible having a husband like that must have been, perhaps? – but at the last moment, she stopped herself. It was almost as though she was second guessing herself at every turn, clearly knowing what was good and right in this situation but not being able to bring herself to say it.

And the moment she'd worked up the courage to open her mouth again, so did Miss Aurora, who immediately started to fuss for her own lunch.

Sighing, C.C. turned away from her food and reached over to pick up her daughter. The daughter her husband had never even thought about in his mind, when she'd been in C.C.'s belly. That would be a thought she'd turn over in her head, for a while. But for the time being, her daughter needed to feed. She had to concentrate on that, above all else. If she could.

It would be easier in private, of course.

"Aurora is hungry," she told the butler. "I will feed her now – would you please take these plates away and see that they get washed up while I do?"

Niles tried not to frown upon noticing that she had apparently chosen to completely ignore his remark. She hadn't even slightly acknowledged it to him, beyond what she might have said before the baby had started crying.

Maybe she would mull it over when she was left alone? He would have done something right if she did – if it had hit so deeply that she was unable to think about anything else, so she was forced to see the truth. He could only hope that was the case. It certainly seemed that way, which filled him with promise.

Giving a slight bow, he prepared to do as she asked, "Of course, ma'am."

He then collected all the plates, taking them carefully back to the kitchen while Mrs Graves got settled into feeding her child.

Niles only looked back over his shoulder towards them once on his tasked journey, but he could have sworn it was a good enough look to see his mistress thinking about every word that he'd said.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter XI**

Had she not known it would be a terrible idea still, C.C. thought she might've been able to leap up from her seat in the back of the limousine and take herself on the journey she'd been thinking about for the entire week so far.

It had been a month and a half since her accident, and she was finally going back to the hospital for another checkup. At last, she was finally going to find out how much longer she'd be in the chair for! She was only disappointed that Niles hadn't been able to drive the car faster to get her there.

But they were finally pulling up. Getting to the parking lot. She had to be recovering well, didn't she? She'd done everything the doctors had said – practically to the letter. That had to mean she was closer to making a full recovery than ever before, and C.C. couldn't wait to hear it from her doctor's own mouth.

Recovery meant walking again, without the casts in the way or the bandages or the stupid plate hurting. And walking again definitely meant freedom from the God-awful chair she'd come to both rely on and resent. She'd be able to move around her own home like before – she could finally take care of Rory as she wanted, when her girl needed it, without the help of at least one other person. She could finally start being the mother her daughter deserved, without any restrictions whatsoever!

C.C. didn't quite know how she'd make up for the missed time with her baby, but she knew she'd figure that out soon enough. She would just be so happy to be able to see the back of that chair, once and for all!

She knew that Chandler definitely would be, as well. He wasn't yet back from Europe but she could imagine the look on his face when he returned and found that she was walking again!

She could also imagine the look on his face if he returned and found she wasn't yet walking. He'd never asked for this (the crash, the operations, the recovery he was having to endure as much as her), or set himself up for anything less than ordinary married life. It would only be natural that he'd get upset if time passed and it didn't all go back to normal.

Especially if it meant delaying trying for a boy...a little brother for the girl they hadn't been expecting...

She shook the thought out of her head and craned her neck to look out the window, eyes going towards the doors as Niles parked the car.

They had to tell her it was good news. She needed to get better; to ditch the chair and the casts and bandages, for her husband, and for their family. Their little girl, and the boy they'd soon be on their way to having.

It was just a matter of time and effort on her part. If she did as she was told, things would be just fine by the time her husband came home, and they could start trying for a little boy from the very first night he was back. If she was being honest, she wasn't exactly looking forward to being pregnant again – God knows she'd suffered through enough nausea, back-pain and swelling to last a lifetime – but it was a necessary evil.

Her husband's (and, by extension, C.C.'s) hopes and dreams rested on her getting pregnant once again, and she was more than willing to do it if it meant getting a happy, loving family at the end of it.

She kept that thought in mind as Niles got her out of the car, into her chair (all while still minding everything holding her broken and stitched body together) and all the way into the expensive hospital Chandler had insisted she be treated in – yet more proof of his love for her! He wouldn't settle for her getting anything less than the very best medical attention money could buy. She often felt she owed him something in return for what he gave her, but for some reason nothing she did ever seemed to be enough. Maybe when she'd given him a son the feeling would go away, but she could only live in hope.

"Shall I announce you, ma'am?" Niles asked, stopping a few feet away from the front desk.

"That won't be necessary, Niles. Just roll me over to the desk and I'll deal with everything," she replied, smiling at the butler. "Now, chop chop, we're burning daylight here!"

Niles half wanted to smile at that. He hadn't seen his mistress this animated in a long time – perhaps ever! He certainly couldn't remember her looking so ready for anything around the house.

This checkup meant a lot to her. She'd said as much, when he'd been serving her breakfast and when they'd been on their way in the car. Unfortunately for her, he hadn't been able to put his foot down on the accelerator in New York traffic – all that would've done was put them both in another accident. They'd simply had to get there exactly on time.

The part of him that didn't want to smile was slightly worried. It had been a terrible crash that his mistress had been in – what if the advice they'd all followed hadn't been enough? What if the doctors found something else that changed their prognosis, like another break, or an infection in her stitched wound? The checkup could decide all that without her even knowing yet, and she'd be crushed if it came to being kept in her chair for longer...or...or, well...

He didn't think the rest of that sentence. It sounded much too morbid, and he didn't want to even contemplate it being a reality. Granted, he enjoyed being able to look after his mistress, but he wanted her to be happy far more. He wanted her to walk, and be able to see to Miss Aurora without the delays that made her upset. He wanted her to be free of that chair almost as much as he wanted her to dump her monster of a husband.

But it wasn't for him to say. All he could do was take the handles of said chair and do as he was told with a nod.

"As you wish, ma'am."

He took her over to the desk, where Mrs Graves immediately announced herself to the waiting receptionist.

"I'm Mrs C.C. Graves, I'm here for my checkup on my legs."

The young woman behind the counter (brunette, probably around Mrs Graves' age and soon-to-be married, judging by the engagement ring on the fourth finger of her left hand) looked up from her paperwork and flashed the newly arrived Mrs Graves her best customer service smile.

"Of course, madam! What's your doctor's name?" she asked. "And what time's your appointment?"

"Dr Williams," said C.C.. "And my appointment's at a quarter to eleven."

"That's perfect!" replied the receptionist and handed over a few forms to C.C.. "If you could complete those and sign 'em…"

Niles watched as Mrs Graves eagerly took the forms. He could see that she was trying to tread a fine line between getting them over and done with and not making her handwriting look like chicken scratch, but it was difficult to do both. He wanted to tell her that they had plenty of time and she needn't rush, but he knew he couldn't.

She probably wouldn't have listened to him, even if he could. This was something she'd been looking forward to, after coming close to two months of waiting. The sooner every part was done, the sooner she could move on to the next stage.

Taking it step by step and getting to the next stage – in this and in her recovery – were the most important parts anyway.

He gripped the handles of her chair again as his mistress handed her forms back. She was wearing a look of complete and utter eagerness, with the same urgency and adrenaline an athlete would have pumping around their body before they competed in the Olympics. She was ready to go.

The receptionist took back the forms, looked over them very briefly and then smiled at her again.

"That's great, thank you," she gestured over to the nearest waiting area. "If you'll just make yourselves comfortable, Dr Williams will be with you as soon as he can."

After having thanked the receptionist, Niles pushed Mrs Graves' chair to the waiting area. There were a few free chairs, and his mistress offered him to sit down, but he refused – it wouldn't have been proper. He was there as her servant, not as her friend, even if he would have liked to.

He knew his place, and from said place he would support her.

Luckily for him (his feet, really) the doctor didn't take long to call her in. A few minutes, at the most, but he could tell that, to Mrs Graves, the wait had felt like a lifetime.

"Welcome, Mrs Graves," said Dr Williams as Niles pushed her chair into his office. "It's a pleasure to see you."

"Likewise, Dr Williams," replied his mistress. "Shall I head to the examination table?"

"Please. But could you hand me your latest x-rays first?"

C.C. nodded, and had Niles get them from her bag and hand them over to the doctor. She'd had them done a few days ago at Dr Williams' request. They'd soon be joining the many other x-rays she'd had to get ever since the accident, but she hoped these latest few bore more good news than bad.

Williams took the x-rays over to the light box, clipping them up in quick succession so that he could take a good look. Meanwhile, C.C. turned to Niles for help in getting her to the examination table.

He had carried her everywhere for so long now, she didn't even have to ask him to do it. A look was enough of a request, at this stage. And even though she hadn't been much better than miserable for a lot of the time, she was more than grateful for him being her legs while she couldn't use hers.

She couldn't have asked for a better person to do the job, really. Niles was far stronger than people might've given him credit, and he held her securely in his arms without any fear of dropping her. She could rest against his front with ease, and know that she'd make it to wherever she'd told him she wanted to go.

He was...the word servant felt wrong. Obviously that was what he was, but he was more than that, too – he was a friend. A trusted friend that was helping her through this, while her husband was away and she had nobody else.

She thanked him quietly as he lifted her gently onto the table, but her attention was immediately caught by the thoughtful – concerned? – expression on Dr Williams' face. She could see it perfectly from the table, and the worry was creeping back up her stomach with fuller force than ever before.

"What have you found, Doctor? Is there something the matter?"

"No, everything is progressing nicely, Mrs Graves," said the doctor. "As you know, you broke both your tibias and fibulas – hence your casts – and one of your femurs."

"Yes, hence the operation – to mend it with a metal plate," replied C.C., lightly patting her bandaged thigh.

"Indeed. Your x-rays show fantastic progress – most of your bones have been mending nicely," he said, and pointed at C.C.'s lower legs' x-ray. "See here? Your tibias and fibulas are healed – we should be able to remove your casts today, actually, and have you started on physical therapy very soon."

The words immediately set a light at the end of what C.C. had feared was an impossibly long – perhaps endless – tunnel, and she mentally dashed towards it at high speed. Her casts were ready to come off, at last! She could get started on her therapy and be walking again before she even knew it!

This gave everything a deadline. And she'd certainly hit it by the time Chandler came home. Everything would get right back on track, and they might even be able to pretend it had never happened. Sometimes. They definitely wouldn't talk about it, anyway.

She could work with the time they'd have, if it meant that everything would go back to normal!

"That's wonderful news!" she beamed, turning her eyes between the doctor and Niles, who was also smiling. It warmed her inside that he was so pleased for her. "So, when does that start? Will I be able to walk fairly soon after starting?"

Dr Williams pulled a face like he was trying to work out how to say what he wanted to say, but to do it delicately.

"Unfortunately not, Mrs Graves – if only it were that simple! Your tibias and fibulas are ready for your casts to be removed, but you will need months of physical therapy before you are able to walk without assistance," he then pointed and tapped on one of the x-rays. "And there is also your mending femur to consider."

C.C. felt her heart starting to slide into her stomach. It was just enough to be that distinct twang of worry one felt when they were halfway between disappointment and fear. The feeling that happened when there was a chance that slightly bad news could turn into the worst news of the day.

Her femur. The bone they'd operated on with the metal plates. Williams hadn't said anything was wrong with it, so what was the problem? Was it taking longer to mend than the others? Why? Was it going to delay her progress by a large amount?

Would...would it be back to normal, by the time Chandler got back? Would she be ready for her...usual duties, without any pain or limited movement?

She hoped to God that any answers she got back were the ones she wanted. They couldn't delay trying to have their little boy – she'd upset her husband enough already, and there was no telling how angry he would be if they couldn't get started on trying again! He would've just come back from a long, tiring trip, too, and he wouldn't need the stress.

She had to ask. She couldn't just wait to find out and hope for the best.

"What about it?" she bit a little at the inside of her lip. "Is it going to take much longer than the others? Because...well, my husband and I had been hoping to try for another baby as soon as possible..."

Dr Williams' eyes widened in disbelief.

"A baby?! I'm sorry, Mrs Graves, but getting pregnant again is the last thing you should do right now!" Williams said. "If you hope to ever walk again, that is. Femur fractures are tricky, and they usually take at least three months to mend – you probably have another month and a half to go. And that's not counting the months you'll spend in rehab. All things considered, you should push back your pregnancy for at least a year."

"A year?!" C.C. cried out, "What do you mean a year?!"

"I'm afraid so. As I've said before – femur fractures are tricky, and they take time to heal. Once it's mended, you'll have to work with your physiotherapist to start recovering strength and, eventually, get you walking. You'll need mobility aids at first, such as crutches and walkers. If everything goes according to plan, you could be walking unassisted in maybe another five to six months. Should you get pregnant, that simply won't happen. Your leg won't be able to support the extra weight. So, while yourself and Mr Graves can have intimacy, pregnancy would wreck your chances at recovery."

C.C. tried to hold her breathing steady, but with every word the doctor said, it was becoming more and more difficult. She found herself gripping at her clothes, her nails digging into her palms so tightly, they were leaving marks.

Her mouth was fast becoming too dry to speak, but her mind raced with thoughts.

A month and a half. Her last bone – the one Chandler had been most upset about, no less – was going to take another month and a half to get better?! And months of therapy until she could walk unassisted?!

Images of walkers and crutches flashed through her brain, alongside images of her husband scowling, and that made her want to whimper. This wasn't what he had expected from their marriage – not in the least! How was she even going to start explaining it to him, when even seeing her like that would upset him to the point of...well, doing something he obviously wished he didn't have to?

And that brought to her mind a question which nearly left her paralysed with fear. How was she going to tell him they couldn't start trying for the baby? Chandler would be crushed; the thought of a baby boy in their arms had been everything to him! He'd...he'd...

Oh, God...she didn't want to think about what he would do when he found out about that! It wasn't her fault – she knew it wasn't her fault; she'd been as surprised by the revelation as he would be, after all – but what if that wasn't good enough for him? It wasn't always, and she could already hear him telling her that she should've been trying harder to get better quicker...

She could hear herself trying to weakly (on the verge of tears) claim that at least they could still be intimate, but it wasn't enough. How could it be, when she was ruining her husband's dream of a perfect family even more by delaying it?

Delayed, by a little over a year and a half if her math was correct. Could he really stay mad for all of that time? Surely he'd have to get used to the idea, and he loved her, so obviously he knew the importance of her getting better before they did anything to impact her health again...

He had to understand. He would. He loved her, after all, and he hadn't blamed the accident on her – not even when she'd kept him awake at night those first few days after coming home from the hospital. Everything would be alright…

Right…?

The fact that she couldn't even say for sure let the pain roll into her chest like a mist, gradually growing thicker and more heavy until it made her want to burst into tears. She couldn't do that in a doctor's office, though – what kind of grown woman couldn't control her emotions when she needed to?! This was the kind of thing that embarrassed Chandler when they went out in public! He'd said when they first started dating that he couldn't stand overly-emotional and hysterical displays, especially when they weren't called for.

She knew how much he hated them...

She had to hold it in. She couldn't give her husband the family he wanted, as he wanted it, so it was the very least she could do, to not humiliate him behind his back to a medical professional.

Trying to keep her breathing steady, not juddering or shallow or anything else that would make someone ask what was wrong (Chandler wasn't there to say everything was fine), she nodded.

"Alright. I understand..." she said.

Niles discreetly chewed on the inside of his lip – he'd been listening to every word of the exchange and studying Mrs Graves' face as it happened. He'd felt his stomach slipping away, too, taking any good mood he might've had with it – his mistress might have understood what was going on, but that didn't mean she was taking it well.

She was trying so hard to hide it, though! It was so admirable and heartbreaking in so many ways; she had a steely determination that could lead her to do anything she wanted. But it seemed to fail her, or disappear entirely, whenever that bastard she had married came around...

It made him want to crumble with her, alongside getting angry enough to want to do something about it. Not that he could. And he knew he wouldn't be able to comfort her, either. Not even the doctor was succeeding at that.

"I'm not saying it will never be possible, Mrs Graves, there is no need to become concerned. But your health does, of course, come fir–"

"I know," Mrs Graves replied, clearly not bearing the thought of letting him finish. "Let's get going with getting the casts off, then, shall we?"

She didn't want it to drag on any longer. At least after this, she could go home and tell everybody that she wanted to be left alone.

The doctor certainly seemed to have caught on with her wishes. He got to work almost immediately afterwards, making an effort not to engage her more than it was strictly necessary. Years of being a doctor had taught him when to give patients some much needed space.

He knew childbearing was a thorny issue for many couples, and he certainly didn't enjoy having to tell youngsters that their plans for a family had to wait, but it was the best for Mrs Graves. Otherwise, she risked not being able to walk again. She had to understand – she'd have to grieve, that was for certain, but he was sure she'd come to terms with it sooner or later.

He wasn't so sure about Mr Graves, he didn't know the man well – he hadn't seen him once since he'd started treating Mrs Graves – but it wasn't his place to say.

It wasn't long until C.C.'s casts were off – the sight underneath was one Dr Williams knew well and didn't shock him, but to Mrs Graves it was terribly depressing. Both her calves were nothing but skin and bone (and covered in overgrown hair, to boot!) – two weak sticks that simply couldn't and wouldn't hold an adult woman anymore.

She had a strong urge to scream at them – maybe even punch them. But what good would that do? It wouldn't make her situation better. As much as she loathed it, she simply couldn't go against biology. Human bodies were feeble things, and hers was no exception.

"Don't worry," Williams said softly, having noticed Mrs Graves glaring at her legs. "You've lost some muscle tone due to your legs having been immobile for so long, but it will get better as soon as you start physical therapy."

"And when will that be?" C.C. said sharply. "I want to start as soon as possible."

"I can schedule you in with Dr Roberts by next week, if you want," replied Williams.

C.C. turned a hateful glare back towards her legs. She'd have started physical therapy as soon as she'd left Williams' office, if that had been an option! But no, it wasn't; she had to put up with looking at her ugly, broken reminders of her failure for an entire week...!

"I see," she wished she didn't have to, but what other choice did she have? None, apart from maybe losing her ability to walk altogether. "Then that's the road we're going to have to take."

Williams didn't say anything to that. It was obvious to any person who passed by that his patient just wanted it all over and done with. He wasn't about to make her more upset by adding any kind of verbal pressure. Besides, she was still cooperating. If she had been refusing by letting him take care of what he needed to do, then he might have insisted.

"That's settled, then," he smiled at her, heart low and hurting at the idea of her sadness. "But before any of that happens, I must also change your leg's bandages, check your wound, and then get you cleaned up, Mrs Graves. It will help you to feel a little better, now that the casts are gone."

C.C. knew she could tell him out loud not to bet on her feeling better, but she kept it to herself. Even as Williams examined her surgical wound, checking that everything was healing and "as right as it should be" (that was a laugh!) before changing the bandages, she didn't say a word. She flinched or winced if it was uncomfortable, but that was it.

She kept it up as the doctor called for and then received a bowl of warm, soap-filled water and a cloth from one of the nurses, too. He dipped the cloth into the bowl, brought it out, wrung it and then began to gently scrub away at the layers of dead skin that had built up on her calves over the weeks the casts had been there.

C.C. grimaced at the...stuff...that was coming away, turning the water greyer with every little patch it cleaned. It made her doubly glad that Chandler wasn't there to see. At least Niles was with her. He'd been supportive the whole time so far, and even if it was partially because that was his job, she appreciated it.

Either way, whether he was just earning his pay or not, she trusted him.

He hadn't said a word, or even reached out (it wouldn't have been proper) but he was standing close by – she'd noticed him doing that in stressful situations. It was...nice. It made her feel less alone.

Maybe even less scared.

He was a good man, and although they had started off on the wrong foot, she couldn't be happier that she hadn't sacked him. He looked out for her, and that was something she treasured. Loyalty was not easy to come by these days...

Not that she would ever say, but she sometimes wondered how a man like him wasn't married. He was kind, cultured, a war hero and, quite frankly, he was rather handsome, but in a rugged sort of way. Any girl would kill for a man like that – God knows how many of her friends had drooled over soldier boys!

He'd said he'd had to leave Britain because of the economy, but even back then he'd been old enough to want to settle down with someone and start a family. Many foreign young couples had come to America in search of a better life, so Niles could have easily brought a partner with him, if he'd had one.

It didn't really make sense to her, but it wasn't her place to pry. It wasn't in good taste to stick one's nose in other people's business, especially when said business was incredibly personal.

She supposed it was one of those things that would most likely remain a mystery. They couldn't talk openly about certain things for the sake of propriety, but she treasured the strange bond they shared. It was a much needed comfort right then...

She'd find some way to thank him later; he deserved it, after everything he'd done for her while she'd been nothing but a useless lump he'd had to haul around the house.

Well, _while_ _she was_ _still_ a useless lump. They weren't out of the woods yet, by any stretch of the imagination. And it was just her luck that it was still all going to take so long before she could walk by herself again...!

At least Dr Williams was moving along quickly enough with getting her legs cleaned. They might've still been some of the worst-looking things she'd ever seen, but at least they didn't have half as much dead skin anymore.

Chandler really and truly would have been revolted if he'd had to see that! He'd married her expecting smooth skin, kept in good condition all the time, and that was what he'd get when he got home. He didn't have to know about this part, though – it would only disgust him, most likely to the point where he would insist on making sure it was all gone.

Besides, she didn't know how he'd feel about a man touching her this closely. Even if they were in a medical setting, with no meaning behind what was happening, he might say it wasn't a necessary procedure and she could've easily done the job herself.

It made her stomach turn over with guilt, which she held back and endured until the doctor finally wrung the cloth out for the last time.

"Alright, it looks as though we are done here," he said brightly, setting the cloth on the edge of the bowl. "Just remember to be gentle and soft on your skin when you bathe; your legs will be tender for a while, so take it easy."

Taking it easy was one thing she had been doing too much. But, seeing as she had no other choice, she simply thanked the doctor and got ready to leave (with a little help from both Williams and Niles).

It was odd, no longer having the weight of the casts on her legs, but she supposed she would get used to it again. And, as Niles escorted her out of the office – and through the hospital in general – she got to thinking.

Maybe...maybe if she called and told Chandler everything now, he'd have time to get used to it by the time he came home? It would be a little while yet, so surely he'd cool off, before coming back. And besides, she'd be in the middle of her physical therapy sessions, which had to help. He'd see she was making progress, and then not feel so bad about it...right? He'd see it wouldn't be as long as he'd feared, before they'd be able to continue their family...

But she didn't dare think of using a phone in the hospital. She knew how Chandler could get when he was upset, and she didn't want other people overhearing that. He wouldn't want other people hearing it either, in case they got the wrong idea and he ended up looking...bad.

No, she waited to ask until she and Niles had left the hospital. That took a few more minutes, but it would be worth the wait to make sure her conversation wasn't overheard.

They were both safely back in the car, Niles having taken extra care to help her in, and had been driving for a little while by the time she spoke up.

"Can we stop at the next phone booth you see?" she asked. "I need to call my husband."

Had he been with anybody else, in any other setting, Niles would've openly scowled – or maybe even grimaced – and immediately asked what on Earth she wanted to do that for. Her husband hadn't cared enough to stay and be there while she recovered, or been there for their baby, so why should she update him on anything? He could find out how everything was going when he got back. Whenever that was, of course.

But, as was the duty of a butler, he didn't say anything he actually wanted to. His mistress had asked him to do something, and all he could do was obey, even if he would have rather called up Mr Graves himself to tell him how much of an awful bastard he was...

"Of course, ma'am," came out instead of all that. He kept his eyes scanning for phone booths, half hoping that he wouldn't see any. "I will have to find some change for you, so if you don't mind waiting a few moments once I have pulled over...?"

He knew he didn't have any change on him – his wallet hadn't had anything much of value in it since before the war, but he still carried it anyway. Even mentioning it was really a delaying tactic, or a vain hope that his mistress wouldn't have any change in her own pur––

"What will I need change for?"

He had to pause at that. It certainly wasn't any kind of response that he'd been expecting. What...what did she mean, what would she need change for? How else was she supposed to use a public phone?

Not wanting to come across as rude, he summarised it all with a quick look, a quirked eyebrow and what he hoped was a tactful question.

"Ma'am...forgive my impertinence, but...you are aware that you will need change in order to pay to use the phone?"

He didn't dare take his eyes off the road to look at her again. He just heard her defend herself against an unspoken accusation.

"Why would I be aware of that? I've never used a payphone before! I'm not familiar with all the...rules and regulations..."

Again, had it been anybody else, Niles didn't know whether he would have exploded in his own incredulity, or burst out laughing. How...he didn't even know how a person could have gone their whole lives thus far not knowing what the "pay" part in "payphone" actually meant! And he'd certainly never called anything related to them "rules and regulations"!

Steadying himself before he could get too distracted, he answered her as calmly as he could.

"My apologies, ma'am. It is very simple, once you know how to do it. The first...rule...of a payphone is that you have to insert a coin into the machine to pay for its use. As it is public property, and only takes change..."

"Oh," Mrs Graves seemed to take it all in, before he heard her fishing around in what he assumed was her purse. "Well, then there's no need to wait – I think have enough in here. It couldn't cost more than what, five dollars?"

Niles thought he felt his hands nearly jerk to the point of letting the car swerve.

_Five dollars_...? She honestly believed that a single phone call would cost five...

He had to shake it out of his head. He wasn't about to get into that kind of debate with her – especially not when he knew her question was based on inexperience. She wouldn't learn otherwise, and she would most likely feel bad if she thought she was being chastised. He just had to take it for what it was, and accept the defeat that came with one of them having change.

"If you have five dollars in there, you have more than enough, ma'am," he tried hard to sound as though he wasn't annoyed, or trying to take in a deep breath. "I will simply...help you out of the car, then. Would you like me to stand with you while you make the call?"

After some apparent careful thought and consideration, his mistress told him it would be best for him to stand a little distance away. So he was with her and could help with everything she needed, but not so close he seemed privy to intimate conversation, he assumed.

That felt more ironically fitting than most things that had happened in his life. But he had no power to argue. Again, like with most things that had happened in his life.

So, with a nod and a soft "Yes, ma'am", he began to look for the nearest payphone, pulling over as soon as he spotted one.

C.C. felt her heart give a jolt – or was it her stomach? – when she noticed that they'd arrived at her planned destination. This was it; she couldn't back out of it, even if she wanted to. What she was doing was for the best, anyway. Chandler had to know everything, and it was better that he knew it all now.

He'd be fine with it. And if not fine, then he'd come around to the idea. He knew she would be working as hard as she could...

Allowing Niles to help her out of the car and over to the phone booth still seemed to play out at half the speed time usually went. Even with her own reassurance, she still didn't know what would happen. She just had to find out.

So, once Niles had shown her how to pick up the phone off the hook and slot her coins into the machine, she told the name of Chandler's hotel to the operator (he always let her know where he was staying, in case there was an emergency), listened to it ring and watched out of the corner of her eye as the butler moved away from her call.

Suddenly, as the phone continued to ring, C.C. wasn't so sure she wanted Niles to be away anymore…

She forced herself not to call him back – he shouldn't have to hear this. Niles was a friend to her, and she knew how unpleasant her husband could be when he was in a foul mood. It would make him uncomfortable, and that wasn't something she wanted to do. It wouldn't be fair…

This was between Chandler and her, and that was that.

But of course, it was delayed before she could even begin, by the hotel front desk – of course – picking up the phone first.

"Good afternoon, this is The Ritz Hotel London; how may I help?"

C.C. tried not to let her nails dig into her palm as her hand closed up, and she spoke as calmly as she could.

"Hello, yes; I'm looking for a Mr Chandler Graves, he is staying with you as a guest."

"Might I ask who is calling, please?" the concierge asked.

She might have been thinking too hard, but his voice sounded slightly clipped or on edge, and C.C. briefly wondered if the man she was speaking to had met her husband, or seen him come through. Alone, or not.

But she then decided it simply wasn't worth thinking about in that moment unless she wanted to make herself miserable ahead of time, and simply continued.

"I'm his wife, Mrs C.C. Graves," she said. "Is he there?"

The concierge made a thoughtful noise before answering, "I am not sure, ma'am. I will place you on hold and telephone his room. Please bear with me."

C.C. breathed out, trying not to sound too agitated as she spoke, "Alright..."

The concierge went away, and she waited. She wasn't sure how much time passed between being placed on hold and the man coming back, but it was long enough for her to start when the phone was picked up again.

"Putting you through now, ma'am."

C.C. automatically straightened up, as best she could, "Thank you."

She heard a click, and the phone had barely rung again when she was suddenly hearing her husband's voice.

"Hello? C.C.?"

This was it; time to face reality. An anxiety-inducing reality, at that. Still, she had to grin and bear it – see it through. She couldn't hide away from the truth, and the longer she took to tell him, the worse the fallout would be.

"Hello, Chandler," C.C. said, trying to sound as cheerful as she could – she didn't want him to get any more agitated than he already sounded. "How are thi—"

"Is everything okay? Nothing's happened, has it?"

His words were quick and they cut over her trying to get him to keep calm. Obviously he was worried – the line was only supposed to be for emergencies, after all – but she had to do this. It might not exactly count as an emergency, but it was still more than important enough for a call. And she couldn't just give up, either – not when she was through and she'd barely even started telling him what was going on!

"No, nothing's happened, exactly, but I do need to talk to you about something," she said, trying not to audibly swallow.

There was a pause, and C.C. thought she heard Chandler moving, maybe to sit down somewhere.

"About what?" he asked, voice suddenly full of suspense. Suspicion, maybe? "What's going on? Where are you?"

"I'm out in the city...using a pay phone," she told him, her voice wavering some but otherwise holding it together. "I just got out of the hospital, and thought I'd give you a call to let you know how everything is going."

The phone call, at least, seemed to be going well so far. She wasn't going to count the little mishap at the beginning – he was probably just surprised by it. Everything was fine, and she'd be fine when she told him what was going on. Which was something he was obviously going to expect. As her husband, he'd want to know how well she was being looked after by her doctors.

"Oh, yeah? What did they say? Are we in the clear and can we dump that stupid chair already?"

He certainly sounded like the news had cheered him up – made him eager for good news. And that only made her want to shrink away from it more, knowing his good mood would be ruined the moment she told him what was going on...

"Not…not just yet," she replied softly.

She was easing him into it – she didn't think he would tolerate having the bad news broken to him all at once. Chandler's temper could flare easily, and once he was off the handle there was no going back.

There was a small part of her that felt she was fighting a losing battle. Given her prognosis, it was unlikely that her husband would keep his cool throughout the call, but another (stupider) more naive part of her kept telling herself that it would be okay.

That he would understand…

"What do you mean not yet?" Chandler replied sharply. "How much longer will you need it?"

C.C. gulped – here went nothing. This was it. The moment of truth…

"A few more months, I'm afra––"

"What?! _Months_?! What do you mean months?!" Chandler barked, making C.C. flinch. "How much longer does that asshole want your legs to be in casts for?"

"The…the casts have come off, honey," she said, heart beating – drumming – against her chest. "I'm scheduled to start physical therapy next week. But my femur will take another month and a half to mend. Until then I'll have to use the chair. He… he said that I should be walking with some assistance in two to three months, but that it will be six months or more before I walk unassiste––"

"_Six months_?!" Chandler screamed, hard enough to shatter glass. "It's only a bone, for Christ's sake! What does it need to do, regrow itself from scratch? How the hell can it possibly need that long?!"

C.C. felt her stomach twist into a knot and she swallowed. It didn't relieve anything, however. All it actually seemed to do was bring her heart closer to her throat, while a strange, slightly warm sensation started to prickle over her skin.

"I don't know, Chandler – I'm only telling you what the doctor said," she explained.

She was trying as best she could to just breathe. Something in her felt like she needed to keep calm and in control of her feelings, if she hoped to salvage this. She couldn't get hysterical, like Chandler had pointed out she'd been before – he was more likely to listen to her when she wasn't acting that way.

But it didn't sound much like he was interested in listening to her, anyway.

"Screw the doctor! One single, fucking bone cannot possibly take that long to get better!" Chandler snapped. "He's probably adding on time because he thinks you're not gonna do everything you can to get walking again – he probably thinks you'll just sit around like other women do, when we both know that's not the case, don't we?"

C.C. heard the suggestion in his voice very well; he was expecting her to agree with him. But could she really agree? The doctor was her doctor, after all – he knew better than anybody what she had to do. And even though Chandler was upset about how long it would take, he had to know it was for the best, didn't he?

She knew she couldn't ask that, though. She still hadn't gotten to the part she knew he'd find worst.

"I'll do everything I can to ensure the bone heals properly," her heart took that final little leap upwards that it needed to land directly in her mouth. "I'm...I'm going to have to, if we want to have another baby. And if I want to be able to walk, after..."

There was a horrible silence down the other end of the phone, only cut through when she was about to ask if he was still there.

"What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

_No bursting into tears_, C.C. thought to herself. _No crying or begging for forgiveness. He has to understand – it isn't anybody's fault._..

"I mean that if I get pregnant...the doctor says it'll probably ruin my chances of walking again. So, I can't get pregnant again this year. Starting from now. So for an entire year, or at least until I'm walking again."

She'd barely finished her final sentence when the other end of the line exploded.

"An entire _year_?! What the fuck do you mean, you can't get pregnant for a year?! Did the broken bone shove itself upwards into your – your whatever?!"

C.C. felt her organs drop, "No, but––"

"Then why the hell should it stop you?!"

It felt like everything around C.C. was growing much bigger than she was. No. No, it felt like she was shrinking, smaller and more helpless with every word Chandler spat out.

But the warm prickling on her skin was turning to burning, too.

She'd _explained damn well_ why she couldn't get pregnant again for now! She'd told Chandler exactly _why_, and for some reason, he was still choosing to ignore it! What did he want from her? Did he want her to be able to walk, or did he want her to be able to have the son that he wanted?!

Didn't he realise that he couldn't have both things at once? Or did he care about one more than the other? And if he did, was he really willing to prioritise his own wants and needs over her health? Over the possibility of her being crippled for life!?

They'd made a promise to each other when they'd gotten married: in sickness and in health, in good times and bad times, until death did them part. She'd been a good, dutiful wife to him; she'd never strayed, and when confronted with her own failures as a housewife, she had always striven to better herself and correct her mistakes. She had kept her promise, so why couldn't he?

She'd found herself in a horrible situation through no fault of her own. She hadn't meant for this to happen, it just had! And, as her husband, he should be supportive. He should help her recovery, not hinder it…

"Chandler, I've told you why!" C.C. – for the first time in ages – snapped back at her husband. "I need physical therapy to walk again, and that won't happen if I'm carrying a child. My legs won't be strong enough to hold me! Besides, it's not like we won't be able to have more children – we'll just have to wait a little longer."

"I've waited long enough!" Chandler screamed back at her. "When we got married I told you I wanted children. You promised we would have them, and so far, you haven't fucking delivered!"

C.C. had never experienced free fall from a great height before, but his words crashing down over her launched a feeling an awful lot like it.

What was Chandler saying?! That wasn't true at all; she had delivered! Quite literally – _they had a daughter_. A beautiful little girl, who had started off their family and would be the best big sister for any little boy they had in the future! He couldn't have just forgotten about Aurora in his anger, surely?!

She had to protest back.

"I have delivered! I delivered a little girl! Aurora, _your_ daughter!"

The scoffing that followed her defence of their oldest child set the burning deeper into her blood.

"Oh, please! You think I'm gonna pin all my hopes on another man's future baby maker?! She might be my daughter, but she's worth shit to the family legacy!"

C.C.'s jaw dropped just listening to the cold, callous insults that were spewing out of his mouth – about their own, innocent little daughter! What on Earth did he think he was doing?! She knew he'd not exactly been pleased by Rory being born a girl, but he had to have grown used to the idea! Grown to love her!

"But she's your daughter!" she shouted back, on the verge of her own hot, angry tears. "Isn't that worth anything to you?! Forget about the family legacy – think about love, Chandler! Don't you love your own little girl?!"

"I'd love it more if you'd done a good job and had a boy, like you were supposed to!" he snarled, his words coming like a thunderous blast. "What the fuck am I supposed to do with a girl firstborn?! She can't inherit from me! She can't carry my proud family name! She won't be good for anything until you can doll her up and we get her married off to the first rich guy I point her at! And what happens next?! She's not our problem after that! But she is a problem while she's still too little to know how to be the perfect wife – and that is all on you!"

C.C. didn't think she could feel more sick if she'd tried. The burning was deeper than ever, down to her bones and boiling her blood until it turned to steam in her veins.

Rage. She was enraged by everything he was saying.

Chandler didn't love Aurora like he should have. Scratch that – he...he really didn't love their little girl _at all_, judging by his claims of her being worthless just because of her sex, and he was never planning on changing his mind. Their own little one, that he'd "been so looking forward to" when she'd still been inside her belly, was nothing but a burden and a shame to him!

How horrible could a man be about his own child?! How crude, and cold-hearted, and...and unfair?! Rory didn't deserve any of what her father was saying about her and C.C. knew damn well that this wasn't her fault, either! Neither one of them had done anything to make Chandler so mad!

Neither one of them deserved this.

"Don't you dare say that! This is not on me, Chandler!" she screamed back. "None of this is my fault, and any problem you have should not fall on your daughter! She's done nothing wrong and she deserves a father who loves her! I won't let her have anything less!"

"So I'm less, huh?!" Chandler couldn't have sounded more ready to explode if he'd tried. "Fine! Fucking _fine_! We'll see how much less I can be around there! Don't expect me back in the house any time soon – good luck without a man around the place!"

"We'll be just fine without a man around," C.C. spat immediately. "Good luck learning how to say you love your daughter! Come back when you've perfected it!"

Without letting him speak again, she slammed the phone back down on the receiver, the sharp ring of the metal hook echoing in her ears.

Niles, meanwhile, was already over halfway to where his mistress was stood. He'd heard the screaming – he was more than certain half the street had heard! – and he had to know what was going on, right away! She couldn't have been hurt, she was still on her feet; and besides, the screaming had sounded angry, not painful...

"Are you alright, ma'am?!" he cried out as he approached. "I heard a commotion––"

"Don't talk! Just take me home, Niles!"

The hissed words weren't even said in his direction, but they were powerful enough to make him take a step backwards. But even from further back, he could see his mistress' shoulders shuddering slightly, where she was trying hard to hide her own soft crying.

His heart sank. The call didn't look as though it could've gone any worse.

He wanted to reach out; to ask what had happened, and how he could make it better. He knew her husband was a monster who hurt her deeply, but he thought that he could conjure up some sort of solution! Something that would make her forget all about the terrible things Mr Graves had said. All she had to do was ask.

But she hadn't asked. And she'd told him not to speak, either. She'd already told him what he had to do – so what else was there? She was already upset enough, and he would only be prolonging it by not complying right away...

She'd already suffered enough sadness, pain, and disappointment that day. He didn't want to add to any of it, by any means.

So, nodding silently and coming forward without mentioning even one of her tears, he helped her back to the car that would take them home.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter XII**

Days. It had been days now since Niles had last heard Mrs Graves say more than a word or two to anybody. The last ones he'd really heard from her himself were the ones she'd said when she'd insisted that he take both her and Miss Aurora to Mrs Graves' room.

That had been the most awful day. The day they'd come home from her trip to the hospital, just after the phone call that had seemed to end his mistress' entire world.

Mother and daughter had been holed up in the bedroom ever since, with the latter only being heard when she cried and the former mostly just sitting or lying in bed, never actually being seen sleeping and leaving plates of mostly untouched food – breakfasts, lunches and dinners all – on surfaces so that they piled up.

If it hadn't been for him going in to remove them occasionally, the room would have looked as bad as it actually felt to step in there.

As bad as his mistress felt inside. It didn't take a genius to work that one out. What he wanted to know was how it had come to this in the first place – obviously, Mr Graves was to blame; he never ceased to make his wife miserable in any way he could think of and enjoy from.

Even when his wife wasn't even in his vicinity, he still managed to hurt her inside...

Niles knew he had to find out what had gone on during that phone call. It was the only way he could fathom ever getting unasked-for answers, and perhaps take her a step closer to understanding how awful her husband actually was.

Their marriage was awful, too. And how truly good could a man be, if he screamed at his wife down the phone? Well, he imagined there must have been screaming from him, the same way there had been desperate screaming from Mrs Graves.

But he couldn't know for sure until he she had told him herself. So, to help gently ease her into wanting to discuss what had happened, he had spent all that particular morning baking in the kitchen.

The chocolate cake he'd made for her before had gotten her to open up a little, hadn't it? And it would mean that she'd actually be eating something, instead of turning bits over with her fork...

It had to work. It was perfect, even if he did say so himself; the mix of chocolate and fudge in its softest, gooiest state was enough to make anybody hungry, wasn't it? And when she ate, she had to relax, which would help her to feel alright about talking to him.

That was all he really wanted. For her to feel alright talking to him about anything. He'd say it was for domestic purposes and to be able to do his job better if anybody asked, but it was truly more than that.

His mistress was his friend, and friends should be able to talk to one another.

That thought guided him as he sliced off a thick, delicious looking piece of the cake and slid it neatly onto a plate. Adding that to a tray, along with everything needed to make a calming cup of tea, he was ready to go.

He carried it as carefully up the stairs as he would have carried a newborn - or carried his own mistress, even. And, soon enough, he was outside the room of the woman herself.

Setting the tray down on the nearest side table, he knocked on the door.

"Mrs Graves? I have a treat for you..."

As usual, there was no answer. She simply couldn't be bothered, which was starting to bother the butler greatly. This was a time for her to focus on her recovery (she'd be starting physical therapy that same afternoon, and he only hoped she'd be willing to attend her session), not to despair over her arsehole of a husband.

Alas, Mr Graves had the infuriating ability to aggravate everyone even when he was an ocean away. Just when Niles thought he couldn't possibly be any worse, he somehow managed to outdo himself. He really didn't understand what she'd ever seen in him, but he supposed certain things would forever escape his understanding. It was just as well – he didn't think there was a way to rationalise Mr Graves' disgusting behaviour towards his wife and daughter…

With a sigh, Niles gently pushed the door open and peered inside.

Mrs Graves was where she'd always been since coming back from the hospital – sat in bed. The woman was but a shadow of the beautiful, young mother he'd driven to the hospital; the sight was truly pitiful. She hadn't taken a bath in all that time, she was still in her pyjamas at 11 a.m., her hair was tangled and unkept, and her eyes were red and swollen from all the crying. Aurora was sleeping at her side, clearly unaware of the emotional turmoil going on inside her poor mother's heart.

It broke Niles heart to see her this unwell.

"I brought you some cake, ma'am," he told her, forcing a small smile. "It's my mother's recipe – the one you liked so much."

"I'm not hungry," she said, not even looking at him.

Niles didn't know why that was what finally did it, but something about the way she wouldn't look at him, or the fact that she still insisted she wasn't hungry even though she'd barely eaten in so long, made him snap inside.

This couldn't go on any longer the way it was! Mr Graves was not worth this kind of misery, and she had a young daughter to think about! She was far more important than he would ever be, so it was time to move on!

He marched over to the nearest bedside table and put the tray down. Even if he was angry, he wasn't about to slam it – she'd already seen enough violence in that house.

Besides, he wanted her to listen, not be afraid.

"I think I've just about heard quite enough of that, you know – I've seen how much you have been eating these past few days, ma'am; there is no way on Earth that you are not hungry!" he was fast throwing caution to the wind, and definitely not speaking like a servant, but he didn't really care. "And for what, might I ask? A phone call that did not go as well as you had hoped it would? Even in the worst times that Mr Graves has upset you while he was here, you've never acted like this! Like nothing else in the entire world was important!"

He could only hope he was getting through to her. With her daughter right there beside her, she had to see that there were far better things to be thinking about, didn't she? Miss Aurora was always first and foremost in her thoughts, usually.

That was it. He had to pour a little bit of salt in the wound to really drive the point home. It would definitely cross the line marked for servants, but he honestly believed that she needed to hear it.

"Do you believe this is how Miss Aurora should see you? Not up and about, living your life? She needs you more than Mr Graves does! Or have you forgotten that?"

C.C. turned her eyes up to the butler, indignation, hurt and anger quickly rising in her very core. Even under her teary eyes, she still managed to let a glare come through, too.

Even when she was upset beyond all measure, she could still do that.

"How dare you say such a thing?! You have no idea what you're talking about!"

She knew she had to fight back. How could he possibly know what she'd gone through?! He hadn't been the one on the phone, or heard the things she'd heard! He'd been stood several feet away while the man who was supposed to love her told her that the family they had didn't count!

That she had failed as a wife and mother, barely after she'd even started. How else was she supposed to take that, other than by doing what she had done?

Niles didn't understand. Servants didn't have to understand!

But that didn't seem to be an opinion they shared, as Niles kept pressing on with his tirade. His shouted demanding of answers, as it quickly became.

"I know exactly what I am talking about, Mrs Graves! I mean that you are not putting your priorities straight when you have a little girl to care for! Do you want her to see you like this? In this...this exiled depression you have put yourself into, over her father? Do you honestly believe that Mr Graves is more important than she is?!"

That had to be enough of a wake-up call, didn't––

"Of course I don't!" Mrs Graves immediately shouted back, sending the room into silence.

Only briefly, however. It gave them both enough time to register the magnitude of what she had just said. Aurora would always be more important than Mr Graves. But this was the first time anyone had ever considered mentioning the subject out loud.

"Then why are you acting like this is the end of the world?" Niles asked firmly, still angry but not as loud as before. "As I said, your daughter needs you more than he does. And if Mr Graves can walk away from a...an argument over the phone, then you should be able to as well!"

"He didn't just walk away from a phone call," his mistress snapped back. "You…you have no idea what he said! If you did…"

C.C. shook her head, feeling hot, shameful tears running down her cheek. It still hurt too much to admit it out loud – to admit that the marriage she'd so hoped would work, was coming apart at the seams. It was a miserable feeling, and it was made ten times worse by the fact there simply was no way out, was there? She and Chandler were married, they had a child (whether he liked it or not) and she had no one and nowhere else to go apart from here. Divorcées weren't really welcome in polite society, especially if they were single mothers!

The shame would be too much for her to bear, and it would do a disservice to her Rory – having an outcast for a mother…

She simply couldn't walk away, even if part of her wanted to. There was no family waiting for her, she had no other home apart from this one, and she was currently disabled. She wouldn't make it on her own in her current circumstances. Chandler was another factor to consider – he wouldn't stand being abandoned. Hell, if she knew him he'd probably go into one of his rages!

The thought of what could happen (both to her and Rory) in that case scenario always made her blood run cold…

"Then maybe you should tell me, ma´am," the butler said, sounding much softer and kinder than before. "You don't have to carry all your burdens on your own. Not when, I'd like to think, you are among friends."

C.C. wiped at her tears, trying hard not to sniff too much as she looked back up at him.

Friends...were they really friends? She had thought of him that way before, especially back at the hospital, but the moment she'd gotten angry with him, she'd dismissed it again...

That probably said more about her than it did him, and it weighed her down with a fresh new guilt. Niles had been the kindest person in the house, even though he'd been there the shortest amount of time. He deserved better than to be pushed aside from the word "friend" just because he was a servant as well. She had to admire his bravery, too – not many would choose to stand up to their employers like he had!

But if...if they really were friends, then maybe she could tell him what had happened? So he could give a fresh perspective, and maybe some advice...

Niles might've been a butler, but to her, he seemed exactly the type that just about anybody could go to for advice.

Even her.

She supposed he would let her ease herself into it – he really didn't look the type to snap at her to get to the point...

"I...when I called Chandler, I started by trying to tell him everything that had gone on at the hospital," she began, still wiping at her eyes every few seconds. "That didn't go down well at all. He...he got angry that my femur hasn't mended yet, and won't for a while. And...and when I explained that I need to heal..."

The hurt was almost too much; it was overwhelming to the point where she burst back into tears, her sentence drifting off into incoherence. But Niles didn't shout, or demand that she hurried up. He simply waited.

"Take your time, ma'am."

The butler didn't raise so much as a foot to tap impatiently, and as C.C. watched him just...stand there, listening to her tell him everything, she couldn't help but feel a little...well, better.

Not about anything that had happened, obviously, but about telling him in general. About letting him know when things were bothering her, and knowing that he wouldn't get angry or upset with her in return. It was...different, to what she was used to.

It felt right, confiding in Niles. Even if it hurt and beyond words to have to tell him any of this, knowing that every word of it was the complete truth.

The hurt and the anger cut and burned deeply, making her fist curl up, squeezing the bedsheets tight in the palm of her hand. She still didn't want to believe this was all coming from the man she'd married – the one she'd promised to love, honour and obey, and had at least expected the first two from him in return!

The thought forced out another shuddering breath and some more hot, angry tears before she could continue.

"He just kept getting worse and worse...! Told me that I needed to get better on _his_ schedule, not the doctor's, and he got mad about us not being able to have another baby yet...he said I hadn't given him children and when I pointed out that we have Rory, he..." she had to calm herself, before she did something drastic. She furiously wiped away the tears. "He demanded to know what he was supposed to do with a "girl firstborn"! He told me he'd have loved it more if I'd had a boy, like I was "supposed" to, and that Rory wasn't good enough to inherit from him!"

Niles' face and heart both fell. Even if he could absolutely believe this sort of thing had come from Mr Graves, it didn't make it any less horrific. It took a special kind of monster to openly admit that they didn't love their own, innocent children, whom they had apparently been so excited about only months before!

But he had no idea what to say to relieve Mrs Graves' heavy and bitterly stinging heart. How could he? What words could possibly undo the vile, hateful, cruel thing that her husband had said?

He supposed there really was nothing. Nothing he could say in his capacity as a butler, anyway – had they been of equal standing, there would be plenty of things he could say. Most of which almost definitely involved kicking Mr Graves out and finding Miss Aurora a new father. An actual father.

The only real-life alleviation he could think to provide was delving into his jacket pocket for a clean handkerchief, which he then offered to Mrs Graves.

"I never expected this from him," she said, taking Niles' handkerchief and dabbing at her eyes. "I mean… aren't… aren't husbands supposed to support their wives? We vowed to be there for each other, for better or for worse – am I out of line to expect him to show some modicum of support? Or to love his daughter as he would a son?!"

She looked up at her butler, eyes brimming with angry tears, both daring and allowing him to speak his mind. She knew servants weren't supposed to do that – more often than not they were simply expected to nod and agree with their bosses – but Niles was no longer just a servant. He was her friend, as strange as that might have sounded, and she trusted him. She needed to trust him. She needed someone she could count on…

She'd once hoped Chandler would be that person, but she now knew that would never be.

"No, ma'am, you aren't out of line," he sighed. "And, if you forgive my impertinence, I think your husband isn't much of a husband to begin with. And not just because he isn't being supportive…"

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked C.C.. "Until now, Chandler never hurt––"

"Good husbands don't hit their wives."

The silence that followed was as unpleasant as the arguing they'd been through before. It made Niles feel like the ground had caved in beneath him, sending him falling down a long, dark tunnel into an endless abyss.

Then, the panic set in, and it started to argue with his own sense of honour and justice.

He shouldn't have said that, should he? But at the same time, how could he not? She needed to see, and it looked like all other routes had failed! This was the first direction they'd taken where she hadn't simply doubled down on defending Mr Graves, insisted it had all been her fault in the first place and "moved on" from the incident!

It was like her poorly-reasoned resolve was cracking. Perhaps it could be replaced with something better? A new resolve to see her own self-worth, so she would never forget that she deserved to be treated better than this?

He knew he could make her see that, eventually. He just had to keep going – to keep on making her see how much more she could have, without a bastard for a husband!

She was obviously afraid of what seeing would mean, because she tried to go straight back to her old habit. The one Niles hated to see her use the most: defending the indefensible, and making up excuses for a man who simply didn't deserve them.

"Chandler's never been as bad as this before, I could handle him up until now––"

"Please, don't insult my intelligence, Mrs Graves," Niles cut back over her before she could say so much as one more word. "I know exactly what he does to you, and I can assure you that it has been just as bad throughout my entire time here as it is now!"

Mrs Graves looked on the verge of scowling, "He never said that he didn't love our child before!"

"Miss Aurora was not yet born for him to decide not to love!" Niles barked back, not even thinking before the words were out. "But he hurts you, ma'am, whenever he has the chance – that alone should be enough to tell you he is not as good for you as you had hoped he would be!"

"He doesn't mean it, more often than not…" she said defensively. "I'm sure even your parents had their fights."

"Of course they did! But my father never hit my mother – not even once. They might have slept in separate rooms occasionally or not spoken to each other for a couple of hours, but he never, and I really mean never, laid a hand on her. Did your father hit your mother? How about your grandparents? Was physical violence commonplace in their marriages?!"

Niles was close to screaming – the only reason he was keeping his tone in check was because he was trying to keep some semblance of propriety. He didn't like to be harsh to her, but she needed it – she needed to open her eyes once and for all. Otherwise, how long would it take for one of Mr Graves' so-called corrections to seriously injure her? How long would it take for him to murder her when he was in one of his blind rages? Niles didn't want to imagine it. He couldn't bear the thought of his mistress losing her life at the hands of a psychopathic arsehole.

"No…" Mrs Graves eventually said, angrily still, but less so than before. "No, it wasn't…"

"That's because it shouldn't be," Niles insisted, looking her in the eye. "He is abusive, ma'am, and you need to stop making excuses for him. If you don't believe me, think about this – would you stand for Miss Aurora's future husband treating her like Mr Graves treats you?"

The words hit C.C. harder than the car accident, coursing through her as she imagined Rory, the sweet little girl still sleeping through the...loud discussion...but older, married and with a home of her own. She saw her laughing and dancing with her husband, happy and completely in love.

But then the dark clouds came over and the shadows moved in – she saw Rory cowering in a corner, bruises blotting her arms, her eyes wide with fear as the man she'd once hoped would love and protect her suddenly turned, raising an open hand, a fist, a foot ready to strike...

All for what? For disagreeing with him slightly in public and "humiliating him in front of his friends"? For not bringing him the correct jacket or tie and "ruining his look for the day"? For simply getting in his way, when he was in the wrong mood?

C.C. had already been through all of those herself. She didn't want Rory to have to suffer the same way – not at the hands of some bastard who simply didn't deserve her. Not when he was going to treat her like...like she was nothing!

That...that really was the way Chandler had been treating her, wasn't it?

He'd been nothing but a monster to her for so long now, she had just learned to accept it. But she couldn't stomach the idea of it happening to their girl.

"No, I wouldn't," she answered Niles, a calm covering an underlying layer of rage. "I'd never let her be treated like that by anybody. Husband or not."

"Then why do you let him treat you like dirt?" he said, crouching at her bedside.

"I… I don't know…" C.C. replied, a new wave of tears coming over and pouring down her cheeks. "He wasn't like this before. He was kind, loving, gentle – he still is, when he wants to be. He always says sorry after he snaps, and he tries so hard to make it up to me, so I guess I felt that… that…"

"…That you were the one doing something wrong?" Niles said softly.

C.C. nodded.

She still remembered the first time he'd snapped at her. It had been a few days after they'd arrived back from their honeymoon. She'd left for town without letting him know, which had translated into a huge fight when she'd gotten home. That had been the first time he'd hit her, too. He'd slapped her twice, once on each cheek. Hard. It had left her ears ringing and her cheeks stinging for hours, but what C.C. remembered the most was the utter shock and hurt she'd felt upon being hit. She'd ran to their room and locked herself in their bathroom for hours. She'd tried so hard to make sense of what had happened – to rationalise the abuse she'd been subjected to, but she hadn't been able.

When she'd eventually come out, Chandler had been there, eyes puffy and swollen – he'd been crying – and a bouquet of roses in his hands. He'd said he was so sorry, told her that he didn't know what had come over him and that he would never hurt her again…

Clearly, it had been an empty promise.

From then onwards the abuse had only worsened, and the more violent he'd become, the less apologetic he'd been. What's more, he'd started to blame his rages on her, and somewhere along the way, she'd started to believe him.

She just didn't understand why, though! She'd always been so strong and confident before, but with every beating and every spat curse in her direction, a little bit more of that had been ripped away, like a violent storm could tear apart a stone cliff face until the whole thing came crumbling down.

And, with that analogy in mind, C.C. felt a realisation strike her like lightning.

He'd...he'd worn her down. Like the cliff face against the terrible waves – it wouldn't have started that bad, but the water would slowly erode the cliffs over time, wearing them away, until a storm came and the rock fell apart all at once!

That had been Chandler's plan all along, hadn't it? To start small and work his way up, so that he could see what she'd take and accept, and push it a little bit further until she was making up excuses for what he'd done that time because it had never been like it before...!

She'd let him do it, until she'd believed that it could only have come from her being in the wrong! She'd let herself become battered, and hadn't stopped to question it at all!

That made her want to slap herself in the head, until the pain outside matched the terrible, betrayed hurt spreading inside her chest. What had been the matter with her?! Hadn't she understood how sick it was, to keep on giving him free passes to cause her as much suffering as he wanted, whenever he wanted?! Why hadn't she left the first time he'd done it, gone right back to her parents and begged their forgiveness until they took her in again...

Oh God, her parents! What would they do, if they knew what their daughter had become?! Would they even forgive her?!

How could she even forgive herself, or look in the mirror, knowing that she had willingly led herself to her own personal Hell? That she had followed a monster there, imagining it had loved her?

"What have I done, Niles...?" she asked, her breathing starting to hitch and speed up. "I did this! This is all my fault – I could've stopped it at any moment, but I let Chandler––"

Niles felt his heart crack in two, and he immediately cut back in.

"Now just wait a minute, ma'am – I don't believe you "let" him do anything––"

"But I did!" she shouted, startling Rory out of her deep sleep and causing her to cry. Just as her mother was now doing. "I sat there and I let him use me however he wanted, I let him hurt me and I made up excuses to let him do it again! I told myself it was my fault he was hurting me, and I just had to be better so he wouldn't have to get so mad! But I was innocent! I did nothing to him, and I...I deluded myself into thinking that he loved me anyway!"

Her weeping overtook her completely then, her heart shattered into pieces and her body ready to curl up into a despairing little ball, and Niles lost it.

What "it" was – his mind, his sense of decorum – he didn't know, but it was enough to propel him forward, to send him to his knees by her bedside, to scoop the baby up into his arms and to pull both her and Mrs Graves into the warmest embrace probably any of them had ever had.

It was only after he got there, arms around them both and with his head softly nestled into the space between his mistress' neck and her shoulder, that the alarm bells started to go off in his head.

What the bloody hell did he think he was doing?! Grabbing at Miss Aurora like that, and then hugging Mrs Graves?! Holding the baby between them as though...as though he didn't know what he was doing!

What kind of a butler was he, that he thought he could get away with being so...so intimately close with his employer and her child?!

He was about to stammer out an apology, back away and promise never to do such a dishonourable thing ever again (if he didn't have to beg for her not to sack him on the spot), when he realised...Mrs Graves had just...sighed? And softened into his arms? Even Miss Aurora's crying had calmed into fussing, that sounded like it would soon fade away back into noises in her sleep!

But...why? Shouldn't Mrs Graves have been taking her child away from him, not relaxing into his shoulder as though there was nowhere else in the world she'd rather be? Shouldn't she have been yelling at him to get out, so she could be alone?

Shouldn't that have been the end of their apparent friendship, ruined by him instead of saved?

Everything in him (as well as what had been drilled into him at Butler Academy) suggested that should have been the case, but as with many things in the Graves' household, things didn't go according to plan. Had his father or any of his tutors been there, they would have grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the room, all while apologising to the mistress of the house. They would have most likely given him a thrashing, too.

Good thing he was the butler and not them, because right then, as his mistress nestled into him, he simply couldn't bring himself to care. She needed support – she needed him, so who was he to deny her comfort? Especially in a time of need?

"It's alright, ma'am," he said softly, beginning to gently stroke her back. "It's all going to be ok––"

"No it's not," she cut him off, shaking her head. "I'm still married to…to him… and I… I don't think I can stand being here for the rest of my life."

"Then don't," he said, pulling away just a little, so that he could look her in the eye. As he did, he gently slipped the baby fully into her mother's arms. "You need only give the order and I'll prepare both yours and Miss Aurora's bags and drive you to wherever you wish."

C.C. let her mind drift away for a moment, imagining what that would be like. Just...grabbing everything and getting in the car, driving away and never coming back again. Where could they go? Where couldn't they go? There were so many places they could run and hide and never be found by Chandler – she only had to look at Niles to know he'd take them there, no matter how far it was...

But was that really fair on Rory? Forcing her into a life on the road, potentially having to move from place to place in order to avoid Chandler, staying one step ahead of him and practically sleeping with one eye open to make sure he didn't catch up? And how could they even run, anyway, when her leg was nowhere near mended? She needed a doctor, physical therapy, to rest whenever possible – how could she do any of that, if they were packing up to move again whenever the monster chasing them caught up?

She had to be able to move first – to heal, so she had at least some of her mobility. That would make things easier for them, if they had to make a quick getaway. It might help her get a job, too, if they found somewhere they could stay for a good, long while. And that brought on yet another point – they'd need money, and lots of it, if they were going to go anywhere!

They'd need to buy food, and rent somewhere to sleep – it wasn't as though she could just go home to her parents. They hadn't forgiven her yet, and she couldn't simply go crawling to their doorstep, pleading for their help when she hadn't earned it...

She did long to see them. But she needed to apologise first and know that they loved her again before she even attempted to step a foot inside her old family home. Besides, she knew that Chandler would target her parents' house first - it would be the first place he'd go looking if she suddenly turned up "missing from their home". Even with everything that had happened before, he'd still take no risks that she hadn't simply gone straight back.

She needed to go somewhere completely different, before going there.

No, they couldn't go. Not yet. The dream of going away and never coming back wasn't shattered, but it was still a long way off. They needed to plan first, to get money and other supplies and find somewhere safe to live.

She hated to have to tell Niles that, but it had to be done.

"No...I can't..."

Niles' felt his heart drop. What did she mean, "no"?! Didn't she want to get away, go somewhere else and never have to see that bastard she'd married ever again?!

"_No_? What do you mean, "no"...?! Ma'am you can't stay here!" he began to half-grab at her upper arms, looking between her and Rory. "We can do it – I can take you away from here; get you both somewhere safe––"

"I know you can, Niles," she cut him off, as calm and collected as anyone who had made up their mind could be. "But my mind is made up. I can't go anywhere yet. Not while my leg is still bad, and I haven't gotten any money together at all – we need to plan properly, not go on a whim."

Niles let out a relieved breath much louder than he was originally hoping to.

Thank God. She wasn't planning on staying; she just wanted a more solid plan! She was right, too – what he'd said had been so...so spontaneous, he hadn't even stopped to consider her leg or the money issue himself!

It was fine. They would be fine – they'd come up with a plan while Mr Graves was gone, and get out of there before the arsehole realised anything was wrong.

"Yes...yes, you're right – you're right," he told her, his eyes dropping down to Miss Aurora again. "We can work this out, and then go."

Mrs Graves nodded, and she actually smiled for the first time since this entire conversation had started.

"Good. At any rate, I can make good use of Chandler not being here..." she said, quickly looking down at her leg. "I'll start by actually going to my physical therapy appointment this afternoon."

She looked up at him again, her eyes shining brighter than before.

"Will you pass me over my tea and cake? I actually feel like I could use something sweet. And maybe you could sit with me and tell me more stories about the war while I have it?"

Niles couldn't help but start to smile back, pulling himself to his feet.

"Of course, ma'am - right away."

He would get her cake, and he would tell her all the stories she wanted to hear; good or bad, exciting or...less. He knew he would do anything she asked – especially in his relief that they would eventually be getting out of there. One day they would leave and be free of that house and the monster that lived inside it.

One day, they'd be happy without hurting at all.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter XIII**

It was probably going to be another day of nothing but hoping, but that didn't make it any less fervent. Stewart Babcock wasn't one to give up just because he'd failed a few times – he wouldn't have ever become the chief judge of the United States Court of Appeals for the Second Circuit if he hadn't worked hard and pushed.

He wouldn't consider this pushing, though. Not in the same hard, traditional sense of the word, anyway. It was gentler than that, and yet far more important at the same time.

He'd been writing a letter to his C.C. – his Kitten, his baby girl – every week since she had come back from her honeymoon.

It was all he had been able to think to do – had apparently been allowed to do, considering the fact that he'd been given no warning before the newlyweds had come back from their vacation and then moved off to God only knows where. They hadn't given him or B.B. an address, a phone number, or anything else that would indicate where they were living after that. What other choice had he had but to write, when calling was unlikely and visiting was impossible?

The one address they had been allowed to use was Chandler's office, so as much as it frustrated Stewart to have to try and correspond with his daughter through her middleman husband, all the letters went there. Had always gone there, and had seemed to pay off at least once, at first – he'd been over the moon when, on one occasion, a single letter had arrived. It was typed up, so he hadn't been sure who it was from at first, but as soon as he'd read "Daddy" in the opening, he'd felt his lungs breathe a sigh of relief even as his heart jumped into his throat.

Not that a single response letter (with no return address) telling him and B.B. to stay away because they clearly didn't like Chandler, and that he was her husband, her new family and came first in her mind, was the reply he had been hoping for. In fact, it had been crushing at first. He'd written back desperately, asking – pleading, begging – her to reconsider. To give them a chance, to sit down and have a real talk about everything, like adults who were members of a loving family.

But that letter hadn't been replied to. And neither had any of the others he'd sent since.

But he wouldn't let any of that put him off now, even if he only ever heard back simply to be told to go away again. If every letter represented a chance at hearing something – anything – from C.C., then he'd send as many letters as it took. Even if she had told them in the last one – only one – she'd sent back that she "never wanted to see them ever again", he'd still send them just in case she changed her mind.

He wasn't convinced she'd written it in the first place. Something about this whole setup felt like his bastard of a son-in-law had had more than his fair share of a say in the matter. Why would all the letters have to be addressed to his office, otherwise? Apart from wanting to keep him and B.B. away from their house, of course. The man was probably reading the letters before handing them over to C.C., but what was he doing with them in the meantime? Doctoring parts? Rewriting them?

Stewart really didn't know, but something didn't feel right. It'd felt that way ever since that letter had arrived, when the contents had made no sense at all. Their little girl had never argued with them over anything major before, and had certainly never decided to stop talking to them without everyone sitting down and having a rational discussion!

Her husband probably had had something to do with that, too. Probably "taking her away from her awful, evil family". If they even counted as that anymore.

Not that trying to deny them contact, or even their apparent disownment, was going to stop him from heading to the post office – he could see it now, just at the end of the street as he walked – and dropping off the latest letter.

He knew it was a long shot really, but maybe it would finally be the day. The day she'd finally get her hands on the letter before Chandler did, and read it with no interference.

He kept that thought in mind as he got closer to his destination. It was directly across the street from the hospital, and he often watched the people walking in and out as he went; it gave him some kind of peace, thinking about other people's lives instead of potentially losing part of his own. Especially when they were coming out – he liked to think that they'd been cured of something, or were well on their way to recovery after a battle with a long illness, or had been told some wonderful news.

But he didn't have time to slow down; he didn't want to slow down, either, when he was so close to his destination.

He always thought he got across the street to the post office in record-time, but that day he might've actually done it for real. The line to see the clerk wasn't long, and he was only waiting for a few minutes before he got to the counter. And, as he did, he came face-to-face with the man who served him most often – a kind fellow named George, who was only a few years younger than him and had nearly-adult children of his own.

They'd chatted enough over the weeks Stewart had been coming, and he knew practically everything the judge did, at this point.

And, had anybody asked, they would've found out that George couldn't feel any more sorry for the guy than he did. But somehow, he didn't think he could admire him any more than he did, either. It was clear that Stewart wasn't getting anywhere with his daughter, but he just kept on trying anyway.

George was almost sure it would've killed him, never hearing from his children again. He wasn't sure how Stewart found the strength to keep on going, simply by imagining that one day he would finally get a letter back.

He never told him this, though. If the guy had hope, he didn't want to interfere with that.

"Hey, Mr Babcock," he said instead as the man himself came forward. He tried to offer a smile that didn't tell his loyal customer he was hurting for him. "Here for your usual?"

The words stung in Stewart's chest, but he matched the smile on George's face anyway. It wasn't the clerk's fault there hadn't been any reply, or change in circumstances.

"Yeah, please," he said, slightly muttering the words as he slipped the envelope across the counter. "Same as usual..."

After chatting a little and getting the letter paid for and handed over, Stewart said goodbye to his friend and left in the direction he had come. He went back past the hospital, and he began his usual routine of people-watching as he strolled. But it didn't last long.

He was quickly distracted by a family directly ahead of him – a sandy-haired father, a golden-blonde mother in a wheelchair and a little baby peeking out from over her arm. He couldn't see the parents' faces (they had their backs turned to him), but they were chatting animatedly about something, between each other and to the little one, too.

They clearly loved their child a lot, including him or her in the conversation and making the baby laugh. Stewart could hear the soft squeals of delight coming from the baby, and he felt his heart get squeezed.

He remembered that sound so well, from the first months and years he had spent with B.B. and C.C.. Anything and everything had made their Kitten smile when she'd been that age, and it didn't take much beyond that to make her laugh as well. A feather tickling her chin, a funny face or voice, the splashing of the water in her bath...

Heart cracking (as it so often did nowadays), he crossed the street again to take a different route back to the car before he could accidentally catch up to the family. He didn't want to stumble in on their moment and ruin it by mistake with his suddenly less-than-optimistic mood. Those memories did too much to him these days, and he knew it could get worse if he thought about them for too long.

It reminded him of what he'd had before, and what everything seemed to be telling him he'd lost. He just didn't want to think he'd lost it for good, and he could only pray that the letter he'd just sent off wouldn't be met by cold, unfeeling silence…

* * *

C.C. almost couldn't believe her own good mood as she and Niles (with Rory tucked into her arms) started to leave the hospital. They'd just come from her latest appointment and things couldn't have gone better than they had!

Well, maybe they could've if there had been some sort of miracle and everything had healed up, but considering how she had been, she was more than happy with what she had now. Her doctor had been so pleased for her; he'd told her that she was making excellent progress and that she was finally ready to start using crutches!

She almost couldn't believe it – crutches! She'd reached the next stage in her treatment, and that meant taking one step closer to walking again! She'd soon be rid of the chair entirely, and be as free as she wanted to be...!

Of course she'd need plenty of practice before she started moving around with them, but she preferred to focus on the positives of it all – one of her legs was all fixed up, and even if her femur still needed some more time to finish mending, she was moving in the right direction already.

Niles had been so happy for her too, and the mood even appeared to be rubbing off on Rory, who had been babbling excitedly from the moment they got out the doors and had turned to head down the street.

"That's right, Miss Aurora," Niles answered, pushing her chair along and probably giving the baby that soft grin of his. "Your mother has been doing so very well! And her hard work is coming shining through...!"

For some reason, the way he said that made the baby laugh. He might have switched from the grin and pulled a face alongside it that C.C. couldn't see.

She couldn't help but start to grin herself, either, cheeks faintly warm, "I still can't entirely believe I made it this far! There were days I thought I'd never leave this thing!"

She used the hand not holding Rory to tap the arm of the chair. It came out more like softly hitting it with her palm; her entire body was clearly ready to go!

"But you will," her butler replied, soft and happy sounding. "And, if it is my place to say so, I think it calls for celebration."

C.C. took stock of what that meant. Probably a nice, quiet lunch at home that he had prepared himself. Maybe with more of that cake that she loved so much, before spending the rest of the day doing whatever she wanted.

It was...a good idea. Maybe a little underwhelming, compared to the news, but good nonetheless. Peaceful.

"It certainly does," she said, turning her eyes off in the direction they'd parked the car. "Time to go home, get settled and have a nice, celebratory lunch."

Just the way she said that made Niles frown. It actually caught him to the point where he almost stopped her chair!

Her tone had changed so much between talking about her rehab and healing, to the idea of going home – she was enjoying the day they were having out in the city, and the thought of going back was clearly as bland, uninteresting and same-old that it just couldn't live up to what she was currently doing.

She hardly ever left home, and when she did she had to turn around and go right back again. That wasn't fair, or just. She deserved some time out to celebrate her good news.

Maybe...no, not "maybe". He was going do take a decisive action here!

"Actually, ma'am, what would you say to us...staying out a little longer and having lunch in the city?" he had to push past the sudden hesitation that he was going too far. "My treat, of course."

C.C. felt herself halting, despite the fact that she wasn't exactly moving in her chair. The thought of the first two questions echoed in her head as she decided what to do about them. Staying out longer in the city than necessary? Not going home for lunch? Since when did she ever do either of those? She knew when she had to be home by and she knew that they had plenty of food in the kitchen that Niles or the cook could easily make into something delicious. She knew she was liking it outside, away from the house, but they had to get home, didn't they? It wasn't at all their usual routine – Chandler would expect...

That immediately stopped her with the heat of anger starting to flare up a little in her chest. She hadn't thought about her husband all day, and hadn't intended on thinking about him until she'd thought about staying out. Going out and having lunch, like any other grown woman her age would be allowed to do if their husbands weren't complete and utter bastards who hated the idea of letting them do anything they might like...!

But Chandler wasn't there, so who cared what he thought? She was having a nice time out with Niles and Rory, and she didn't want it to end just because she'd had a thought she'd practically been trained into!

But she did have to wonder why the butler thought he would be paying. She was his employer; she had far more money at her disposal than he did at his. As generous (and, dare she say, sweet) as his offer was, he didn't need to do such a thing! She could easily pay for the finest restaurant in town with the money she had in her purse, and he wouldn't have to spend even a little of his hard-earned savings!

"That sounds like a lovely idea, Niles, but you don't need to spend your money––"

"Madam, please," he cut her off, clearly not wanting to hear any of her complaints. "I know I don't have to – I _want_ to. I would love to treat you and Miss Aurora to a nice lunch out. It's the least I can do, and I can certainly afford to buy us a meal!"

"Oh…well, if you are sure about this…" she said.

"I'm positively certain," he replied, smiling. "Now, I have to ask – are you open to experiencing a kind of lunch you are probably unfamiliar with?"

"Now what is it that you have in that twisted mind of yours?" said C.C.. "Should I be worried?"

"You offend me, ma'am!" Niles said in mock indignation. "Have I ever betrayed your trust?"

C.C. pretended to think long and hard about that, humming in thought and making several noises like she was considering her options, before she finally answered.

She knew what the answer really was, but she wanted to tease him a little.

"Well, I suppose not..." she grinned up at him just as he started to get that faux offended look on his face even more. "Alright, we'll take your suggestion for lunch, whatever it happens to be."

Niles matched her countenance with ease, slipping comfortably into a smile as he prepared to take the wheelchair to the crosswalk. Luckily, the exact place he had in mind wasn't that far.

"Excellent! And I certainly hope you won't be disappointed. I don't think you will be, at any rate..."

He let that trail off before he started rambling; the place he was thinking about for an unconventional lunch wasn't exactly what his mistress would be used to. She had spent her whole life surrounded by luxurious things and this was...well, a lot less refined. He personally loved it (it was practically the only place around that knew how to serve a proper full English breakfast), but who knew what she would think?

He really hoped it would open her eyes to a new world of possibilities, and let her live a little. He didn't know if that was what would happen, of course, but he thought he could give it a go. And she trusted him with it, even if she had no idea what he was thinking. That probably felt just as good as knowing that she would be moving onto practicing with crutches, soon enough.

He kept that thought in mind as he pushed her wheelchair down New York's bustling streets. Although teeming with busy commuters, they weren't so bad that manoeuvring her chair would be a challenge. It was lucky, really – as much as he liked urban life, Niles wasn't a fan of big crowds, especially when little Miss Aurora had fallen asleep in her mother's arms.

Their destination wasn't far away – the tiny diner was only seven or so blocks away from the hospital, nestled in between two humongous apartment buildings. Niles had found it almost by accident when he'd first arrived in New York. He'd been weary from a long trip from Illinois (he'd gotten a short gig for a few months there) and the only thing he'd wanted, had been a warm cup of tea and some breakfast. The diner – Sal's Classic American – had looked clean and fairly cheap, which at the time had ended up sealing the deal for Niles.

He couldn't have picked a better place if he'd tried! Sal's had the best English Breakfast he'd had in years, so Niles had instantly become a regular and would religiously have breakfast there until he got the job at the Graves' manor. Naturally, now that he lived away from the city, the frequency of his visits to Sal's had decreased considerably, but he still liked to go there on his days off, often for some breakfast and a nice chat.

Sal and his wife managed the business: he was the cook and she managed front of the house. They were a lovely couple, and Niles had befriended them without really trying. Those things sort of happen over one too many cups of coffee on quiet Sunday mornings, Niles had always thought.

It was a quaint, little place – far removed from what Mrs Graves frequented, that was for certain, but it might just be what she needed: some good food and company.

"Here we are," Niles said proudly when they eventually got to the little diner. "Sal's Classic American – the best diner in the whole of New York City, if I do say so myself."

C.C. looked up at the restaurant, practically holding down an eyebrow which wanted to spring up by itself. She read the name on the sign overhead, and through the glass of the huge windows saw customers enjoying hot cups of coffee out of plain white mugs, and digging into enormous plates of bacon and eggs, pancakes, burgers and hotdogs, slurping at milkshakes and laughing loudly at the things their companions said...

A diner? The polished, preened and polite English butler had brought them to a _diner_ for lunch? How did he even know about a place like this to begin with, let alone apparently know that it was the best one around?

"You come here often?" she asked as he started to wheel them towards the door. "Forgive me for saying so, but I don't normally associate British butlers with diners in the middle of New York City..."

She thought she heard Niles chuckle.

"What can I say, ma'am, other than that I am full of surprises?" he sounded quite proud of that fact. And a fact it was certainly turning out to be! "And I used to come here a lot more, but I still make it to breakfast whenever I can."

He got them in through the door, where they were immediately met by a petite, pretty waitress with perfectly set black curls and a pearly white smile.

"Hi, welcome to Sal's! I'm Jeannette," she had directed the start of her speech at C.C. because she was the first through the door, but appeared to change direction as soon as she noticed Niles walking the chair in. "But you already know that! Hi, Mr Brightmore – you're in late! Lookin' for lunch instead of breakfast for once?"

Before Niles could even finish chuckling and give his answer, Jeannette had turned her attention back to C.C. and Miss Aurora with a surprised grin.

"And with a plus one, plus extra babe in arms, this time! I gotta tell ya, I'm a little impressed – I thought you'd never bring anybody at all by this place," she turned to the station she'd been manning when they'd come in and grabbed a couple of menus, quickly adding on to her chat. "Not that I didn't think ya had it in ya, or anythin' like that – I just always assumed you preferred a quiet breakfast on those occasions."

"Nice save, Jeannette," Niles just about managed to get out. "Could we maybe have—"

He was cut off as the waitress waved one of the menus at him dismissively, shushing him quickly.

"Gimme just one second, pal – ya haven't even introduced me properly to yer..._friend_ over here. The waitress spiel is all well and good when it's an ordinary customer, but any mystery guest of yours deserves a little somethin' extra!"

Niles felt his insides clench, and he partially wondered if it was hot enough in the diner to blame his rapidly reddening cheeks on the kitchen. Jeannette was good at what she did, and she was a good friend if you liked to chat and to share the gossip (something Niles couldn't always help himself with), but she did have an awful habit of prying too much

"So, what's yer name, honey?" the waitress asked, beaming between C.C. and Rory. "And who is this little sweetie, if you don't mind my askin'?"

C.C., who was thoroughly amused both by Jeannette's antics and by just how flustered they were making Niles, smiled at the waitress and angled her sleeping daughter in the older woman's direction, so she could see her better.

"This is Aurora, my daughter," C.C. said, smiling adoringly at her girl. "And I'm Chastity-Claire Gr—Babcock. I usually go by C.C."

Both Jeannette and Niles' eyebrows shot upwards, but for two very different reasons. The former, being the perennial gossip, immediately assumed that this new client's surname slip could probably be explained by an impending divorce – she'd known plenty of women who'd stopped using their married names when their marriages broke down. The latter, knowing his mistress' actual marital status, was currently at a loss.

And a massive loss, at that.

Still, to his credit, he kept it cool – there would be an opportunity to ask her mistress about this unexpected name change, but it wasn't then. Not around Jeannette – he liked the woman, but as he'd mentioned, she was too much of a gossip for her own good sometimes.

"My, what unusual names you two have!" the waitress said, grinning. "Lovely, too – I'm surprised Niles here never mentioned you two before! Where did you guys meet?"

Just when it hasn't seemed as though the embarrassment and worry could get any worse, Niles felt the weight of that question get suddenly thrust upon him. How could he possibly explain that he was out with his mistress and her daughter for a lunch, at a diner his employer clearly stood out in, with Mrs Graves suddenly changing her surname just to top it all off? How was it going to look?

But before he could just let his mouth ad lib and stammer out the first excuse it thought up, Mrs Graves answered for herself.

"We met through his work," she said, never dropping her smile for an instant as she brought Miss Aurora back in. "It didn't take long for us to become firm friends, either."

The butler stiffened, but tried not to make it obvious. That was easier said than done when Jeannette looked back up at him and smirked. Only he seemed to register it as a smirk, though. To everyone else, it probably looked like a friendly smile.

"Oh yeah? Friends, huh?" she asked.

Looking back and forth between his mistress and the waitress, Niles eventually just nodded. He had nothing else to go by and clearly Mrs Graves had something in mind that he wasn't privy to. So, this was his best option.

"Yes, friends. We're friends," he replied, probably a little quickly. "Would it be possible for myself and my friend and her daughter to get my usual table, Jeannette?"

"It sure is, darlin'," the waitress replied, her knowing smirk growing even larger (so much so it briefly reminded Niles of the Cheshire Cat). "Do ya need me to show you to your table?"

Niles shook his head.

"That won't be necessary, Jeannette – we can make our way," he said.

"Alrighty then. Ya two get comfortable and when ya done picking your meal, I'll come take your order," said the waitress.

With that (and after giving Niles a not-at-all-subtle wink), she handed them their menus and hurried back to the kitchen, where (judging by Sal's screamed "order up!") she was clearly needed. Niles watched her go in a mixture of shock and annoyance, cheeks bright red and practically burning!

"Well, that was lovely," C.C. declared, putting an end to the short lull in their awkward conversation. "Now, what do you say if we get going to our table? I'm starving here!"

Grateful for the distraction, Niles nodded and brought her through the diner, towards his usual table. It wasn't unusual compared to any of the others in the place – it was an ordinary booth with the same red, curved vinyl covered seat, bottles of ketchup and mustard lined up next to the napkin dispenser on the table – but he preferred it. He supposed it must have been the view from the window just across from it; he could sit there quite happily for hours, watching the world go by as his breakfast slowly disappeared from his plate and Jeannette or one of the other waitresses brought him refills for his coffee. It was peaceful.

And it was ideal for Mrs Graves. She needed all the peace she could currently get.

After helping her make the transition from wheelchair to booth seat, he took his own and began to study the menu. At least, that was what it looked as though he was doing. In his mind, he was still going over everything that had been said at the door and he was trying to work out a way to pluck up the courage and ask just what was going on.

Because something really did have to be going on, didn't it? One didn't just change one's surname out of the blue like that – especially not to a maiden name when the person had previously gone by a married one!

He wanted to know her thoughts. Specifically, had she decided something he should know about that bastard she – presumably – still called her husband?

But how could he bring it up without making it seem odd that he'd asked? Was it even his business to know? It would explain why she'd answered everything by herself so quickly, if it wasn't. He was technically only employed by her; maybe the answer just wasn't for him to know? Even if he wanted to?

But how would he ever find out if he didn't try? Strictly speaking, he'd learned a lot more about Mrs Graves as a person than any butler ever should in the first place. Hell, even being out like this – taking her to lunch – was beyond the appropriate level someone of his position would normally be allowed. They were already through the looking glass, technically speaking. Perhaps he could...delicately work it into a conversation?

He mentally kicked himself for his hesitation and for still being a coward. He'd been far more open with her before now, he could do it again – granted, those other times had been outbursts, but all the more reason to treat them as practices. Actually planning on being frank about something should have been easy.

And he could always apologise if it went too far.

Taking in a silent breath, he flattened his menu against the table and looked at her to speak.

"I couldn't help but notice something, when we were talking to Jeannette just now."

Mrs Graves quirked an eyebrow up at him from her own menu, "What did you notice?"

Here came the difficult part. Trying to explain just exactly what he'd noticed, and (maybe) what he'd thought it meant as well. But that would only come up if she mentioned it first – as hopeful as he was, he didn't want to be presumptuous!

But he had to start somewhere, "That you...chose your maiden name to be addressed by, rather than your married one..."

"I was wondering how long it would take you to bring that up," she said, going back to reading the menu. "Must have been what, two minutes?"

Niles' face fell, and he felt his stomach drop right alongside it, shame and embarrassment taking over like storm clouds took over the sky. Oh God, she really was right! It hadn't taken him long at all to stray from the rules he'd promised to follow and start asking questions that were none of his business whatsoever!

What had he even been thinking, imagining that she might tell him what was going on if he simply tried to ask? He'd known his answer from the start and yet he'd ignored it to just...do what he wanted!

His eyes dropped like stones to his menu, his cheeks reddening – he was all the more humiliated for that, too, and they weren't even close enough for him to blame it on the heat of the kitchen!

"Um, well...i-it was playing on my mind, you see," he stammered out a pathetic explanation, not even able to look up at her as his words sped up in a rush to get them all out. "I didn't mean for it to be so impertinent, though! The last thing I would ever want to do was pry, but—"

"Oh relax, would you?"

That loud request made his head snap back up, and he turned to Mrs Graves once more. She was busy grinning all over her face like she had just witnessed the funniest thing mankind had ever done.

But...why? Hadn't she just been annoyed that it hadn't taken him five minutes to start poking his nose in where it didn't belong?

"Ma'am?" he asked quietly, unsure of what else to say. He would have finished his apology but it didn't look as though his employer wanted that...

She leaned over the table as much she could, her voice lowered, "I'm just messing with you, Niles! It doesn't take a genius to work out that you need gossip like you need air; I've seen you and Margaret at the kitchen table with your cups of tea and the papers or the magazines. You're like two little old ladies sat under the dryers at the salon!"

It took a moment for Niles' mind to process that he was off the hook. But the moment it went through, his middle unclenched and his heart started to return to its resting beat.

And as it did, the relief that came over him made him start to laugh himself. Mrs Graves wasn't angry – if anything, she looked happier than Niles had ever seen her before!

He'd never known her to tease; was it something she would normally do often, if she felt comfortable? Make fun and play games with the people she considered her friends?

He...rather liked it, actually, and it was making him think that they should come out for a break and a lunch outside the house more often.

It made him want to make her smile and laugh more, too.

"We are not like two little old ladies!" he retorted to her comment, straightening himself up and pretending to run a hand through his hair. "One of us is young, good-looking, witty..."

"And the other is a tubby British butler who loves chocolate gâteau just a little bit too much," C.C. quickly replied, smirk stretching into a mocking smile.

"_Tubby_?! I'm not tubby!" Niles immediately replied, straightening in his seat (and sucking his slight paunch in – although he would never admit to it). "I'm…stocky. Manual labour does that to people."

"Oh, really? I wasn't aware that _manual labour_ was also the reason our seamstress has had to let out your pants twice since you started working for us…"

"How did you find ou–– I mean, that's the result of being provided with three nutritious meals a day. Unfortunately, I didn't always have that privilege in the past," Niles said.

He immediately wished he hadn't, though – his mistress' face fell faster than a summer thunderstorm, shame quickly taking over.

"Oh… I'm… I'm sorry, Niles – I was out of line…" C.C. said putting down her menu. "I shouldn't have gone there…"

"No, please – you don't have to do that," Niles reached out right away, as if to put a reassuring hand on her arm, but then held back from letting it happen. He couldn't do that, especially not right then. "I was the one who brought it up, after all, and there wasn't any harm in it. It was all in good fun..."

He wasn't going to let her blame herself for something he had mentioned in the first place. Especially not when they had been having such a nice time and could still have been having a laugh and mucking about as they chose their lunches, rather than her thinking she had to apologise over what he'd said...

But...maybe it could be turned around? He didn't want the fun to end on a note like this, especially not when they still had to eat and go home – she deserved to have a fully nice day out that she could remember without any sad moments whatsoever.

He was her butler, after all. He was supposed to make sure she was happy and comfortable, no matter where they were. He thought he knew how to do just that, too. Mrs Graves had loved his stories before now, and another could just be the ticket to get their afternoon back on track.

"Besides, it wasn't always so bad," he started. "We might not have always eaten well when we were making our way further into France, but sometimes the villages we went through held small parties for us. Let us share their bread and wine, played a little music if there were instruments, or if they were lucky enough to still have a wireless..."

He sat back a little in his chair, smiling in spite of himself. It might not have been a happy time in anybody's life, but they'd all made the best of what they'd had in the moment.

But being stood in the middle of a frozen square of a half-burned out village he hadn't even caught the name of, gnawing on stale bread and forcing down wine, had often made him long for his childhood and the days where he'd always had enough to eat.

"They'd played some of the same songs my own parents had, on the old wireless my father must've put back together about a hundred times," he then said. "They always used to dance together, after we'd had dinner in the evenings."

"That's a lovely image," replied C.C., smiling softly – she couldn't help it, Niles' parents' love story always made her happy. "My parents used to dance, too, you know? It wasn't a regular thing, but whenever they hosted soirees at our house, they'd dance the night away. They were both excellent dancers, so seeing them dance was magical…"

"Oh, the Sheffields loved to offer parties, too. The invitations were coveted by the entire British aristocracy! Anyone who was anyone was bound to be there so, naturally, everybody wished to be in attendance," Niles said, smirking. "Maxwell – Mr Sheffield's son – and I would always sneak into the kitchens to nick some of the goodies the cooks had prepared for the party!"

"My, weren't you a naughty kid, Niles!" C.C. said, teasingly swatting at his forearms with her menu. "Well, I really shouldn't be one to talk – my brother Noel and I always sneaked into the kitchens and raided the pantry. It drove Mother nuts, because we were never hungry at dinner…"

Niles' eyebrows shot up in (extremely pleasant) surprise. The image of a laughing, little blonde lass running out of the kitchens with the pockets of her fine dress filled with treats was both endearing and incredibly unlike the woman he'd come to know as his employer and newfound friend. She was always so calm and dignified in her manners – so measured! To think she'd once been a devious and carefree child was…_outlandish._

And yet, the more time they spent around each other without her husband around, the more her real personality showed. It wasn't demure and reserved – no, it was lively and witty! It had character and charm…

It spoke volumes of the kind of person she'd been before she'd married her monster of a husband.

It spoke – much, much more quietly, as though trying to keep it hidden in case the wrong people heard, but also hoping that the right people would pick up on the signals – of the kind of person she still wished she was. But Niles could see it clearly; how happy it made her to be able to talk about her past, and all of the things that she had done in the years before.

He half wanted to ask if her bastard of a husband ever asked about any of it, but he held his tongue. He thought he could probably guess the answer to that one. And besides, it wasn't as though he wanted to spoil the atmosphere completely by mentioning the bastard in the first place.

No, just letting her open herself up was best. Letting her be herself, and allowing her to be happy in her memories. It would be like offering her a calm space she could go to whenever she needed one.

She'd certainly been in desperate need of one for a long time, by the looks of things.

"Well, I certainly never would've thought I'd be hearing this!" he cried out, his surprise somehow both teasing back but still real at the same time. "Coming from you? It's almost like hearing that the Crown Princess herself liked to steal sweets!"

C.C. barked out a laugh in return, eyes shining as nostalgia took over, "Oh, that would have nothing on some of the other things my brother and I used to do – the jokes and pranks we used to play on everybody! We had this tremendously old, cranky aunt when we were little, and we'd sometimes hide her purse or her hat when she came over...it drove her and our parents crazy whenever it happened."

Niles' look of half-feigned, half-real scandalised shock stretched out into a beaming smile. He was starting to almost not believe just how much they had in common with one another – he had just the story to pair with hers!

"You truly are an enigma; I never would've imagined that you'd delve into such antics," he said. "The young Mr Sheffield and I did exactly the same thing and more to the elderly housekeeper when we were children!"

C.C. looked as happy as he felt, leaning on the table some more in her interest, balancing Rory carefully in her other arm.

"Really? What kind of mischief did you two get up to?"

The butler nearly started laughing just remembering.

"Salt instead of sugar in cups of tea, moving bookmarks around in her books, that sort of thing," his chest swelled with pride – he'd been a genius at small pranks, even when a boy. "We even let a pigeon into her room once; the mess was tremendous!"

C.C.'s jaw dropped, eyes still sparkling in clear delight, "And you were never caught?!"

"Oh, on near enough every occasion," Niles replied with a grin. "But my father never punished me that much for any of it. He always hated the old crone more than anybody!"

His mistress burst out laughing, and the butler felt himself warmed over fully. She looked...so natural, like this was how she should normally look. Should normally be, if it weren't for a bastard of a husband who took all the fun and happiness out of her days.

Took the spark and colour of joy out of them.

She looked like she'd recovered enough to counter his story with one of her own, when a click-clacking approach of heels told them that Jeannette was heading back in their direction. She was carrying a tray with two tall glasses of water in one hand, both of which she set down in front of them.

"Sorry to interrupt this obviously sparklin' conversation, but I thought I'd better bring ya these," she said with a smile. Then, holding the empty tray under one arm, she whipped her notepad off her apron and took a pencil from its pocket. "And you're probably both starving, so why don't I take yer order while I'm here?"

Niles wondered if that was entirely the reason she'd chosen to turn up at the exact moment they appeared to be having the most fun, but he just gave her a knowing look. He wasn't going to have that conversation with her while C.C. was there.

Besides, C.C. was apparently already ready to answer.

"I'll have the biggest hamburger you've got on the menu," she said confidently.

Jeannette's eyebrow raised, and Niles was in full agreement with it. The absolute biggest? That was almost certainly going to be greasy beyond all belief, and not at all what Mrs Graves' stomach would be used to!

"Are ya sure about that, honey? It's kinda big, fer a little—"

"I have a big appetite; don't worry," C.C. waved her concerns away. "Besides, this is a treat I don't get very often."

There was a meaning behind her tone that wasn't displayed in her smile, and Niles thought he knew exactly what it was. Most meals at the house were smaller, vegetable-laden affairs alongside the meats, and were only followed up by perfectly proportioned pieces of whichever dessert they were having.

More than enough to live well, with exercise, but not huge. And certainly not enough to put on excess weight. Most likely exactly to Mr Graves' instructions.

It made Niles wonder if the bastard ordered for them both, when they went out to eat at any restaurant, picking whatever he felt was just right on the menu to keep her exactly the way he wanted. As though she didn't even get a say in what she wanted to eat.

It was almost impressive, how much his mistress was turning this afternoon out into an opportunity to rebel. He liked it a lot – she was getting to enjoy herself with no consequences whatsoever, and he was helping.

Even Jeannette looked like she admired C.C.'s moxie, before she scribbled the order down on her notepad.

"Anythin' to wash that down with, honey? Apart from the water – we do have other drinks in this place."

C.C. apparently thought about it for a moment, casting her eye across the other tables. Niles didn't know which table she'd found her inspiration on, but she suddenly grinned and turned back to the waitress.

"A chocolate milkshake. Again, the tallest one you've got."

Niles nearly laughed out loud; he just about managed to bottle it up inside so it didn't accidentally escape. This truly was turning into "_Screw You, Chandler Graves_" Day and he was certainly more than up for it!

"Comin' right up!" Jeanette said, before turning to address Niles. "And for you…lemme guess – your usual?"

"Yes ma'am!" he replied happily as he collected their menus and gave them back to Jeannette.

"Gosh, you are unbelievable! You've been comin' here for months now and ya keep ordering the same dang thing over and over!" the waitress said, rolling her eyes at him. "We have a lotta other stuff on the menu, ya know?"

"What can I say, Jeannette? I'm a creature of habit!" Niles replied. "Plus, you can't get a decent full English breakfast anywhere else in this bloody city…"

Jeannette pulled a face that suggested she didn't entirely believe her patron but didn't comment on his suggestion again. She simply closed her little notepad and went back to the kitchen to get their order started up, menus safely tucked between her body and her right arm.

"Creature of habit, eh?" C.C. piped up, smirking. "That's a new one!"

"Why, it is not! I'm a very predictable man, ma'a––"

"Call me C.C., Niles," she cut him off. "I mean, friends are usually on a first name basis, aren't they?"

Niles started a little in his seat, his hand suddenly twitching and smacking into the glass of water next to his hand. He steadied it immediately, only a little of the contents sloshing over the side as the ice cubes rattled.

She...she really wanted him to call her by her first name? But...but that was a level of familiarity that servants never achieved with their employers! Not the most senior ranking members of the house, anyway – Miss Aurora, for instance, he would of course use her first name, but only ever with the word "Miss" in front of it! This had nothing – this was purely name-to-name, with no titles or formalities in between!

No barriers. No separation. Just two friends, on an equal footing with each other as they shared a meal out and a laugh over childhood stories!

The butler's heart made itself known to him again as the pounding in his chest started to hammer ever harder. He tried to calm it by taking in a breath without her seeing – the absolute last thing he wanted was for her to start asking questions about why his face was going red.

And it had to be, didn't it? He felt even hotter than before now, alongside an unusual weightlessness he was trying to ignore...

He had to shake it off; he had to keep his composure! They were friends and that delighted him to the point of distraction for a brief moment, but he was still a butler and a gentleman who never appeared flustered!

"C.C.," he echoed, mentally patting himself on the back for not choking. It turned into mental applause when he picked up his water without his hand shaking. "Y-Yes, of course."

The glass felt reassuringly solid against his lips, and the water had to have done something to cool off the heat building in his cheeks. He probably drank a lot more of it than he might have originally, though, because the ice had sunk a significant way into the glass by the time he was done.

Mrs— C.C., he reminded himself, his mind suddenly developing a blip like a skip or twist in the celluloid of a projector at the cinema, was looking at him with an eyebrow delicately – and amusedly – poised.

"Feeling a little thirsty, were we?" she asked.

Niles replaced his glass on the table, careful not to knock it any more than he already had. He wasn't sure he could afford another embarrassment.

"Well, it is rather warm in here and I haven't had anything since...since this morning," he said, carefully avoiding saying the words "left the house".

He didn't want to bring up going back. Not when they were barely having lunch yet. And he certainly didn't want to bring up his awkward behaviour only moments before, so he quickly turned back towards where Jeannette had disappeared into the kitchen.

"It's certainly made me hungry, too. And Sal knows exactly what to do in that kitchen..."

"To make your perfect English breakfast?" he heard the grin in C.C.'s voice. "A little spot of home right here in New York?"

Niles cocked his head from side to side, considering, "Well, home as in my country. I didn't really start eating them until I made them myself, when I started at the Butler College..."

"Butler college?" replied his mistress, sounding both amused and surprised in equal amounts. "There's a university for butlers in the UK?"

"Oh, God no!" Niles said, laughing. "I should have minded my words – for us, college does not equal university. I was trained on a trade, I didn't get a bachelor's degree."

"So it's like a community college qualification?" asked C.C..

"Something like that, yes," Niles replied. "Though, if I'm being honest with you, I _did_ get to go to university after I'd finished my education as a butler, but I never completed my course. Mr Sheffield Sr funded it – he'd promised my father he'd do everything in his power to ensure I became a successful man…"

Niles felt his smile faltering as he spoke. He didn't like to think much about his current position in life, but it was obvious that things hadn't quite worked out as he'd wanted them to. He wasn't successful by any stretch of the imagination, but what saddened him the most was that his reality wasn't so much his fault but rather the consequence of unfortunate circumstances.

It hadn't always been that way. There had been a time when the future had actually looked promising. Happy, even…

Back when Niles had been born, Mr Sheffield Sr had promised Joseph that his son would be given the same opportunities as any children of his own. Thanks to this very promise, Niles had been able to attend the finest schools in the world, starting with Eton and ending with Oxford University. He'd been educated alongside the Sheffields' son, Maxwell, who Niles considered his best and truest friend. They'd grown up as thick as thieves, sharing an undoubtedly brotherly bond that had continued well into adulthood.

The plan had always been for them to attend university together, but upon Joseph's insistence, Niles had had to push back starting at Oxford for one year, until he'd finished his butler training. While Joseph had greatly appreciated the Sheffields' kindness, he'd still wanted his son to have a trade, if things went south.

Both Mr Sheffield Sr and Maxwell had been both understanding and respectful of the Brightmore patriarch's decision. Not only that, but in order for the two boys to still get the opportunity to go to Oxford together, Maxwell had been allowed to take a gap year, which he'd used to travel the world and make up his mind about what course he actually wanted to enrol in.

And so, once Niles had finished his apprenticeship, he and Maxwell had finally started at Oxford in September 1938 – the latter chose to study a combined degree in Fine Arts and Humanities Studies, while the former decided on a Civil Law degree, all in hopes of someday becoming a successful barrister.

"But, well, Maxwell and I enlisted just a few weeks before we were due to start our third year at Oxford University," Niles continued, not wanting an uncomfortable lull in the conversation. "When the war was done, Maxwell did get to finish his studies, but I never went back. I mean…the offer was still there, but I needed a job more than I needed a degree, with my father gone and all that…"

He failed at his own attempt to keep the conversation going then, as he trailed off and let his eyes wander to the table. His finger tapped gently and absentmindedly at his glass, though the feeling of having it there wasn't very comforting anymore.

He only looked up when something moved in his peripheral vision, and he realised it was C.C.'s hand reaching out towards him across the table. She looked near-heartbroken on his behalf, all happiness and previous delight in his stories washed away by his sudden mentioning of the war and his father...

"Oh, Niles, I...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to let that get brought up again...!"

"No...C.C., please," his hand twitched in the direction of hers, but he held back. They were now already on a first-name basis; what else could he possibly want or be hoping for? "It was my fault completely. I didn't have to bring it up, and yet I did. We were only talking about education at first, after all...! I could've left it whenever I'd wanted, so please don't think you somehow forced me to steer the conversation in this direction..."

He could feel his stomach sinking even at the idea of her thinking she'd upset him. This was supposed to be a wonderful day out that took her away from the idea of blaming herself, for anything!

So, he tried to put things back on track, "I did have a good time while I was at university, but it simply wasn't meant to be."

He tried not to frown as C.C.'s own gaze dropped to the table. In fact, he was rapidly becoming so sad and so desperate to see her smile again that he continued to say the first positive thoughts and feelings that came into his mind.

"I-in fact, in some ways, I am actually quite blessed to have not finished. Some good truly did come out of it."

C.C. looked back up at him as though he'd lost his mind, and she didn't understand how he didn't realise it himself because it was so obvious, but also in a way which suggested she was too polite and tactful to blatantly point it out.

"Really?" she asked carefully instead.

Niles smiled, giving a small shrug, "I mean, I never would have met you or Miss Aurora, had I not chosen the life of a butler."

C.C. seemed to stare at him for a moment, then the same heat from the kitchens which had gotten to him suddenly struck her as well, as her cheeks started to flush pink. She quickly moved back in her seat, eyes rapidly focusing on the one thing that could bring relief: her own glass of water.

She still seemed slightly unable to concentrate, though, even when she replied.

"No...no, you certainly wouldn't have...! I just...well, I suppose I have concerns that you might've missed out on greater things. An even better time," she picked up her glass. "I wouldn't have missed any of my college years for anything!"

The sentence hit Niles like a wake-up slap, or with the force of a morning alarm clock going off.

C.C. had attended university? Why had she never mentioned that before now? At her age, she could've only attended within the last few years – how come he hadn't heard a single thing about it, from her or from anybody else in the house, for that matter? Who knew, if anybody?

How come she had gone from a university degree to being married to a monster?

Suddenly, his mind was starting to fill up with more questions than he could have imagined, and they all revolved around this apparently recent past that he'd never once heard his mistress talk about.

"You went to university?" he immediately regretted how the question had come out. "N-not that I think it an impossibility or anything! It's just that you have never mentioned it before..."

Once again (and much to the butler's chagrin) sadness took hold of C.C.'s features. But it wasn't the same kind of sadness as before – no, it was a deep-rooted kind of sadness. The kind of sadness that has been around for so long it's become a bit of a habit.

"It's alright, Niles, I know what you meant," she said. "And you are right, I've never mentioned before. No one in the household knows I am college-educated apart from you…"

"Might…might I ask why?" asked Niles.

A part of him wanted to kick himself for prying, but another part of him simply needed the answers, even if his curiosity came off as impertinent and intrusive.

"Chandler. That's why," she replied matter-of-factly, eyes darkening at the mention of her husband's name. "He's always disliked the fact that I have a degree, and when we got married, he absolutely forbade me from working or even mentioning my education to anyone else. He thinks it reflects poorly on him as my husband – after all, why would a woman need to work if she is married to a man who can keep her in as good a life as he can keep me? Besides, he thinks my degree isn't fit for women. I graduated from Columbia Business School, and in his eyes, business is a field exclusively for men."

Niles felt his fist starting to close up, so he slipped it off the table and onto the seat beside him. C.C. didn't have to see – _need_ to see – any signs that what she'd just said had annoyed him. Angered him, even. She might take it as her fault again, when the blame was reserved entirely for the bastard she'd married.

Just who the hell did he think he was, getting to decide who studied business? And what kind of a supposedly loving and supportive husband just decided all of a sudden that his wife wasn't allowed to pursue an ambition just because it "reflected poorly" on him?! What kind of an arsehole cared more about his own perceived reputation than what his wife wanted to do in life?!

Did he not care at all about her feelings on the matter?

Niles thought he probably already knew the answer to that, really, but the question came anyway. Not that he was going to ask it out loud, because he'd nearly ruined the day enough times already and there'd certainly be no going back from that one.

But maybe he could keep the subject matter, while turning her away from the miserable thought that had to appear in her head like a looming storm cloud whenever her husband was mentioned?

"I see," he said instead, keeping his tone level. "What would you have done with the degree? I mean, did you have a job in mind when you set out to study it?"

"I was going to go into the family business, with my uncle and Grandpappy," she said. "They were the ones who encouraged me to study business in the first place – Dad wanted me to go to Law School, like him, but he never stood a chance…"

C.C. couldn't help the happy (if nostalgic) smile spreading across her features at the mention of her mentors. They'd encouraged her to push the limits – to always look for excellency, both in herself and her projects. They'd shaped her into a woman C.C. had been proud of…

A woman she no longer was, if she was being honest with herself…

The old C.C. would have never taken any shit, especially not from a man like her husband – she'd had to deal with plenty of those when she'd been a student, and she'd cut them down to size without so much as a second thought. She'd fought her way up and earned the respect of her peers and professors in the process, and somehow, that strong young woman who'd bowed to no one had kowtowed to a bastard after a few sweet words and a shiny diamond ring.

It was pathetic. _She_ felt pathetic. She'd turned her back on her family and betrayed her principles for the illusion of love. She'd given up everything for a man who wouldn't do the same for her. _Hadn't_ done the same for her, when it came right down to it – if he had, he'd have been there with her, helping her through her recovery, instead of Niles.

And speaking of the man, he was looking at her with such sweetness – such softness in his eyes, she felt her heart skip a beat or two. He was listening to her (actually listening to her!), paying attention to what she had to say, and not because he had to. He was doing it because he wanted to. Chandler had never done that. Not even before all the…abuse…had started. He loved the sound of his own voice too much to give her the space to share her own thoughts. Besides, he considered the latter both stupid and unimportant, he'd said so before.

In the few months Niles had been around, he'd been a better man to her than her own husband had ever been. More importantly, he'd opened her eyes to the reality she'd been trying to ignore for so long.

He'd been the first to tell her – even if he wasn't the first to see, as heartbreaking as that was – how awful Chandler was. And he'd been the first to even suggest that something should be done about it. Him and his story of how his parents had loved one another, and treated each other with kindness and respect...it had made her look harder, and notice all the things that she was missing.

Things that she could have, if she were free of Chandler. If she were living the life that Niles said he'd assist her in setting up somewhere far away, where she could be free to speak her mind and be listened to, where she would be able to have a job as she wanted, and where she could be loved without being held under any kind of duress brought by duty. And no one would ever raise a hand to her, or insult her baby again.

She could have it all, as long as Niles helped her.

Not that she should really be thinking about that right at that moment! After all, she was meant to be enjoying a lunch out with a friend – a friend who'd been a bigger help to her than he probably even knew – and the last thing she wanted was to think about things that would have to happen later, on a day that would probably be a lot more stressful than this one.

She didn't want to think about that, because that meant thinking about leaving to go back to the house sometime soon. And she was enjoying the freedom she currently had too much to want to go back to the cage just yet

Besides, Niles looked like he was listening so intently to what she had to say, she couldn't help continuing! He just had such an ease to him, and a warmth that made her feel so comfortable, that she felt she could with no trouble.

Part of her felt that, maybe, she could tell him anything.

"He was disappointed at first, but got more used to it when he realised I had my heart set on following the family tradition," she carried on. "He could never deny me anything, once he understood it was what I really wanted..."

Part of her bitterly wondered if he should've tried harder to deny her one awful thing she'd really wanted at the time, but she pushed the thought away. Her father hadn't been to blame for her own stupid mistake in that regard; and even if he had told her what to do, she probably wouldn't have listened.

Niles must've mistaken the downturn in her features for sadness over missing out on using her degree. Either that, or he really knew what she was sad about but didn't want to go back to that subject right there at the table, because he immediately tried to comfort her.

"Well, if you still want it, then there's no reason you shouldn't be able to pick up where you left off when...when things move forward," he said quietly. "When you and Miss Aurora get the freedom you deserve."

C.C. felt her cheeks warming again, and she cast her eyes down to where Rory was cuddled up safely next to her. She didn't particularly feel like she was deserving of much herself (she'd have to train herself back into that mindset), but her little girl deserved the world. It would be nice, to be able to have a job and to provide for her baby. To go through a work day and to come home to a place which felt welcoming and safe. Maybe, if Niles didn't mind sticking around for a while, he'd be the one to help her make it feel safe. For her and for Rory.

Of course, they had to actually get there first. They still hadn't even left her...current situation behind yet. The storm was still raging, but she liked Niles' optimism and the promise of clear skies ahead, even if she couldn't always see them yet herself.

"That would be something..." she murmured quietly. "I'll have to see."

She didn't know if he was thinking as he did it or not, because there was a hesitant pause in the seconds before, but Niles suddenly placed a hand on her wrist and squeezed it lightly.

"It _will_ be something," he reassured. "And you'll get to make all of the decisions this time."

C.C. could only nod, as the touch which ended as soon as his little speech was over (and not a second after) had left a strange lump in her throat that she couldn't quite swallow. She knew he'd only meant it as a friendly gesture, but she couldn't help it; she'd never been touched in such a...familiar way by a servant before, even one she considered a friend...

It was fortunate that Jeannette soon arrived with a coffee for Niles and the tallest chocolate milkshake C.C. had ever seen (it was bigger than Rory!), because that meant she could distract herself with the thick, creamy delight of a drink. Their meals – huge, greasy and oh-so-delicious-looking as they were – followed soon after, and conversation turned fast to what she thought of Hal's recipes instead.

She was more than happy to talk about lighter, more trivial things like that. They were still on their fun lunch out in a tiny diner in the city, and him knowing what she thought of the food he was making her try was all part of the experience, after all.

It was refreshing, compared to the idea of big changes that had to be coming soon.

Changes that would lead to her freedom and a new life with her daughter.

But in the back of her mind, she was still replaying the moment his hand touched her wrist, and thinking about the lump in her throat that she still hadn't fully managed to swallow.


End file.
